Dear Sir or Madam:
It has come to my attention that you defecated on my car between 9 p.m. last night and 6:55 a.m this morning. I have photographic proof (and poop) of this as well as a witness who, for reasons I need not explain, would prefer to remain anonymous.
I have no need or interest in berating you over what you did. After all, I was planning to get my car cleaned this afternoon. If you had relieved yourself around 12 to 24 hours after my car wash instead, well... that would have been a different story. (A story that would have ended with you sh*tting blood, I regret to say.)
That said, I’m kind of humbled you chose my car out of the twenty or so parked on my street if just for the opportunity it offers me to explain why I bear you no ill will.
Firstly, the damage was superficial, unlike the car I saw parked several spaces down from me. That poor vehicle had its rear-view mirror knocked off last night. Fortunately, the one responsible left a note, and it would have been unfair to that person if they saw their honesty returned with unwarranted accusations of defecating. Similarly, it would have been an insult to all that’s holy if the owner of that damaged car found their mirror broken and what you left for me on my rear bumper.
You chose my car instead of that one. For that, I’m somewhat grateful. But only somewhat.
I couldn’t wrap my head around why you chose my car out of so many newer, flashier models until it hit me: You settled on my ‘95 Acura because it looks like it survived a bomb explosion. You took one look at it and thought: “Hey, if he drives that thing, he must have a sense of humor.”
Do I think all this is funny? Yeah, kinda. But that doesn’t mean I approve it.
What you did was so not cool. However, I acknowledge that it was not the worst insult or injury that I, or anyone in this country, could have woken up to this morning.
You could have taken away my health insurance and the policies of more than 23 million Americans for no reason other than to scorn the last administration and deliver your craziest, most destructive supporters your most destructive promises.
You could have taken your giant crap while receiving a salary more than ten times what your poorest taxpayers survive on.
You could have wiped your ass with the American flag and Constitution that men like Mitch McConnell and Paul Ryan pledge loyalty to and then betray no differently than Donald Trump does with business partners, our overseas allies, and with his wives.
So no, I do not hate you. Far from it, I forgive you. However, if you ever show your ass around here again just so you can sit and sh*t comfortably, at least leave us a note explaining why that monumental mound you squirted out is not as bad as the endless excrement that passes for Republican rule in Washington.