An open letter to the greasy-haired sleaze-ball who lives down the street

Dear perverted fuck-face,

Every time I walk by your place and you’re sitting outside, or hanging in front of the corner store across the street with your pals, you leer at me like a creepy a-hole. I see you eye fucking me and I don’t find it flattering. In fact it makes me want to drive my fist into your scrotum, then rip off your genitals and hang them from the nearest sign post as a warning to other disgusting d-bags.

I’m fucking fed up with your sexual harassment bullshit, and on behalf of the women of the neighbourhood, I think it’s about time you knew it. So I’m going to start glaring right back at you. No more of this “I don’t see you so you don’t exist to me” bullshit. It’s time for shit to get aggressive. I’m going to start asking you what in the name of Jesus, Joseph and Mary are you looking at? Maybe I’ll even round up a posse of people and we’ll just walk by your place and stare at you as we pass, like you’re the creature on display. See how comfortable you feel behind your curtain of oily curls then. Your days are numbered, ass-hat. The neighbourhood watch is alerted. You best watch yourself. And hold on to your testicles.

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