Drive-by vacation posting

ONE:

Please. I have told you and your coworkers four times this week that Maria Wenschel does not live at this number. I have had this number for (counting on fingers) uh...five? No, *six* years now. Maria Wenschel has never lived here. Neither has Joyce Ngabe or Matthew Watkins or any of those other folks who owe you money.

TWO:

Bra. Buy one. Wear it. Please. Unless you are the adorable, bone-thin, dancer-bodied hippie chick from across the street, you need one. And she has no boobs anyhow, so she's good.

THREE:

Leash. Buy one. Put it on your dog. Otherwise, my dog will get very upset when your bait canine* comes over to the fence and starts acting all tough, because Max won't know whether to bark or be calm or run away. This is sort of an existential crisis for him, because he believes in protecting the small and weak, and your particular small and weak is begging for a beat-down.

FOUR:

Call. Before you come over. Unless you are the UPS man with new shoes, in which case you can come over any time you like without calling first. Especially if the shoes are free.

FIVE:

Bad: The idea you had to come knock-knock-a-knockin' on my door this morning at four a.m. Not only am I awake then, but I am awake with an anodized pink practice bat filled with Quikcrete** in one hand and my very large dog's collar in the other. And I do not know you, so either the bat or the dog is going to move toward you fairly soon. No, you may not use my phone.***

*"Bait Canine": any dog under six pounds who has no other obvious function than to act as bait for real dogs.

**For a while I considered buying a shotgun, because the sound of a round being chambered in a sawed-off double-barrelled shotgun is the single best deterrent to violent crime ever. However, I've now discovered that the sound of a concrete-filled bat tapping against a doorframe combined with the subterranean rumble of a Good Boy (yes, he's a good boy! Yes, yes he is!) is almost as good.

***And no, I would not have normally opened the door at all, but the knocking was getting insistent and distracting me from Go Fug Yourself.