Dear The People Upstairs;

Hello, how are you? I don’t believe we have every formally met, besides the one time I FINALLY stuck my head out the balcony door and screamed in an upwards direction “What the FACK Are You Doing?”, after you had decided to bang your broom on the balcony for the 70th time that day, after seven days of doing this in a row. Seriously. WTF. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t think banging this broom on a metal bar 70 times a day would bother anyone who still possessed the ability to HEAR anything.”
Your broom banging has stopped, thank goodness. You no longer feel the compulsion the sweep your balcony every time it snows and repeatedly bang your broom on the metal railing of the balcony. I thank you, and all the tenants 21 floors below us thank you.
HOWEVER! What is this new habit of yours of dropping metal balls sporadically around your house? WTF is that noise and what are you dropping and wtf is with your butter fingers?
You have also decided that you need to JUMP AROUND ON TWO FEET whenever you are mobile in your apartment. You now make my pictures on the walls shake, and I am I correct in assuming you rent children on the weekends to feed coffee beans and watch them bounce around on your floors and walls? WTF??? Because this is exactly what it sounds like.
You have also decided to cook intoxicating food every night that comes down through my kitchen vent, thus forcing me to try to match the deliciousness of the smells that is overpowering my tomato soup and bagel dinner; like I’m the ginger ale to your champagne. For this, I dislike you even more.
Please be more considerate.
I am listening to you herd elephants in your livingroom as I type. wtf are you always doing up there?

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