Will, you are a dick. You’re goddamn right I was saving those plums for breakfast.

Fine, it’s not like they’re my favorite food in the world, but I mean, they’re a seasonal fruit, you scumbag. Buy your own food for a change. All you do is sit around the house all day writing about red wheelbarrows and junk.

This is like the millionth time I’ve come home to an empty fridge. And no, leaving a note does not cut it anymore. I don’t care if you put one of your idiotic poems on there. I grind my fingers to the bone all day. I’m a stenographer—that’s serious work. I type over 250 words per minute!

If I find one more note taped to the bathroom mirror with some garbage like this…

this is just to say
I am sorry
I used
your toothpaste
it’s all gone
and I
have gingivitis
there’s some
floss left under
the cabinet but
it’s gross
and expired

… I’m going to break your face.

I type over 250 words per minute! And do you know what I’ve never typed: a metrically irregular poetic apology on the back of Rite Aid receipt. You went to Rite Aid! Why didn’t you buy more toothpaste? Or you could have bought some more plums, or Pop Tarts, or something. We needed sponges.

All you ever get is popcorn. Who buys copious amounts of unsalted, unbuttered popcorn? It’s messed up. I’d be better off eating one of your stupid stepped triadic “masterpieces” taped up around this apartment.

While I’m at it, let’s just air it all out. This has really stuck in my craw since the moment it happened. You can’t just sleep with someone else’s girlfriend and then tape a note to her that says…

this is just to say
I drank
all the beer
and then
you were probably
while I banged Suzanne
but don’t worry
Phil Collins’ greatest
hits were
on all night.

How does playing Phil Collins while you and my girlfriend cheat on me make anything better? It’s sick. I haven’t even listened to him since Testify! That was ’97, Will!

I can’t take it anymore—you eat all my produce, use all the toothpaste, sleep with my girlfriend, and I just sprained my ankle on another empty popcorn tin. What kind of a person does these things to a notary public? Who still buys things in tins? Are you sending away for this popcorn, Will?

Things have devolved, real bad. FYI, I’m subletting your room and I’m turning you in for grand theft auto and destruction of public property. Our neighbors—the ones with the borzois—found a lime green Dodge Durango parked upside down in their sun room yesterday morning. Apparently, the suspect fled the scene of the crime, but there was a note taped to the window on which “someone” had scrawled…

this is just to say
I am all right
I left
the owner’s
number here
I stole his cell phone
so he
will not be
picking up
his lime green Dodge
whoops my bad.

Newsflash, dirtbag: they don’t serve plums in prison!