| 9:10 a.m. | Shock therapy | 2003-03-13 |
| Reaped | Dear Frank Masselli R.E. You may remember a conversation dated the 10 of February, 2003, in which you assured me that "it would be no problem to come and repair your broken, burnt-out flourescent lights in your kitchen. We'll be there sometime today." Oh ho ho. If the truth were a food you'd be the most anorexic model on the block. Let me remind you of another conversation, dated the 27 of February, 2003, in which i proffered a gentle reminder about repairing the light fixture, the delegation of such maintenance no doubt part of the resonsibility of being a landlord, to which you agreed that "someone will be there before Mardi Gras, we'll put it on the chart." Well Frank, Mardi Gras has come and gone and still I sit in my dark cavernous house, whose windows, may I remind you, STILL do not open despite countless requests for help and several broken bowie knives hence forming its own small fire hazard, and here I sit, waiting patiently for the elusive maintenance man to come and replace the obviously archaic flourescent fixtures hanging precariously over the breakfast bar, pondering the existence of this so-called "maintenance chart", no doubt nestled so tight between the cheeks of your ass that no maintenance worker on this plane of reality could possibly find it, much less read it. May I ask why I am paying 700 dollars a month in rent fees if not to have household repairs such as this performed by (semi)competent individuals? Ho ho. Perhaps my brain has been addled by too many nights of debauchery, but I seem to recall a certain statute on the Louisiana law books, something about lessor-lessee relations and the provision of habitable domiciles in exchange for monetary compensation. But maybe I am mistaken. There is a chance Frank, that the real reasoon i pay 700 bucks monthly is for the privledge of eating up your bullshit promises, hiding my paraphernilia on a daily basis on the chance that someone would have the inertia to actually enter my house and perform the 15 minute task. Perhaps, Frank, you would be more motivated to repair my light fixture if I purchased said lights myself. Perhaps you would be even more wont to send your repair lackeys if you were apprised of a certain ELECTROCUTION that occurred Sunday morning, the 9th of March, after your feeble and yes, UNQUALIFIED tenant took matters into her own hands and tried to replace said lights herself. Perhaps the sight of my shaking, frazzled body would shock you into action. Or perhaps you are indeed just another heartless, money grubbing, shit face slum lord who doesn't give a fuck. Be advised, I have dealt with your type before, AND WON. So Mr. Frank Shit Face, use your fat fingers to call your maintenance man and get him out here to fix the fucking light. I am no electrician, but events previously forshadowed in this correspondence both prove and assert that this issue needs, should and WILL be tackled by an experienced professional, and not the resident of the house. If indeed you desire to keep filling your pockets with our hard earned money on a monthly basis, and not the other way around due to certain negligence lawsuits that could appear in the near to present future, I would suggest getting somebody's half-assed cousin to come down here and fix the problem before it escalates any further. I look forward to your reply. Cordially,Weezer1d |
Sown |
| Fresh Cut
New digs - 2004-05-25 Bachelor hell - 2004-05-10 Grumble - 2004-05-07 Coachella pt. 2, or goddamn do my fingers hurt - 2004-05-05 Coachella part one, or, this monkey's gone to indio rawk heaven - 2004-05-05 Random Shearings Rings |
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