Dear Co-Worker Who Wears Way Too Much Cologne,
Please do not use my phone again, ever.
I hate you with the burning rage of a million angry supernovas. Ten years have passed -- TEN YEARS -- since I moved to Chicago, and you have managed to find a way to fuck up my phone service on a near monthly basis that entire time. It is stressful enough to feud with a utility for a week, but a decade tries even my saintly patience. Please all die of a quick but painful and socially humiliating disease.
Dear caramel apple pie from Costco,