Friendly Neighbourhood Darbs

Dear Neighbour Who Lives Almost Directly Across From Me:

I never liked you. Ever. When I was 9, you stopped me when I was riding my bike up and down the street and began lecturing me in broken English, for riding my bike too fast. Broken English isn't even the right way to describe it. Maybe more like shattered-into-a-million-pieces. Not that there's anything wrong with being foreign, but if you're gonna lecture someone who only speaks English, you should take into consideration that they probably won't understand anything you're saying. Your incredibly thick accent didn't help either. Frankly, I can't even be certain you were yelling at me for riding my bike too fast. For all I know, you could have been complimenting me on what a nice BMX bike I had (it was pretty bitchin', I know), but your tone indicated otherwise.
Oh, and more importantly, I don't know where you got off thinking you could just start yelling at a kid for riding his bike too fast, especially if he's not your kid and he wasn't riding anywhere near you. It was very cunty of you.

You also yelled at my friends and I from the window of your bedroom for skateboarding on the street when I was 15. Because you were trying to take a nap. I understand it can be a little loud, but it was 3 in the afternoon and I've heard lawnmowers louder than the noise we were making. The garbage truck that comes every Wednesday morning is 5 times louder than we were, but I don't see you yelling at the garbage men. And we weren't yelling or causing a ruckus either. We were just trying to ollie over a manhole. And frankly, you could have just come down and asked us nicely instead of yelling at us from your window. But we politely obliged.

Today, while I was having a smoke on the edge of my driveway, you rushed out and began calling me over. It would have been nice if you had waved me over and said "Excuse me" instead of simply "Hey!" but I'll let it slide and chalk it up to your broken English, although I've met plenty of other foreign immigrants with manners. You called me over to simply point out that there were leaves on my lawn and began ordering me around. I couldn't believe my ears; you were ordering me or my dad or just us in general to rake our lawn. Our lawn. There are so many things wrong with that, that I can't even begin to explain it all to you. Quite simply, you're out of your fucking mind. I don't even live at my parents' place anymore, so while I could have easily told you to go fuck yourself (not that you would have understood), I didn't. I raked it, something my dad was going to shortly do. I did it myself because my dad had literally been bitching about another one of our neighbours less than 5 minutes ago and if I had told him what you just did, he would have gone postal. I don't even live with my parents anymore, but I don't want them to have beef with anyone on the street, because it's awkward as hell if you have to see them every day. Since you were watching me the entire time I raked the lawn, I'm sure you saw that I only did a half-assed job.

Anyway, the good news for me is that while I didn't tell my dad about it, I did talk to my mom about it. She's given me her blessing to tell you to go fuck yourself (again, not that you would understand); she's ready to throw down and if you had seen how badly she beat me as a kid, you'll know she doesn't fuck around. So go ahead, stick your nose into our business one more time. I dare you.

Your hateful neighbour,
Darren

P.S. Stop standing at your door all the fucking time. Do you realize how fucking creepy it is for me to go out for a smoke and find you standing there staring at me every single time?