Dear Mr. Stein,
Hello. I’m locked in my neighbor’s garage, and I think I’m going to be needing your services quick.
I’m a bad burgle boy. I’ve burgled numerous businesses and houses in the last couple of years. I take items like swag, signed baseballs, Yeezys, expensive steaks, NFT’s (just kidding those are online), and more et cetera items. I pawn all this shit off then invest the money into my Twitch channel (I’m a gamer) and pay myself a modest salary.
But I fell on hard times. I strained my eyes in a Zoom meeting last November and well, it’s been hard to burgle accurately. I accidentally stole a pack of bratwursts I mistook for a set of rare vibrators. You’d think the smell would have given it away, but I think you’d need to think again.
Anyhoo, times are tough, and in tough times, tough boys need to make tough choices. So I decided to burgle Dave and Jeffrey Thompson who live next door to me. The Thompsons have been traditional neighbors although they are not traditional lovers. They invite me over for barbecue and pool time. I even met their son and his girlfriend (he’s not gay; idk how that works).
Eight nights ago I put on my burgle uniform. Black Chucks, Balenciaga t-shirt (so if anyone sees me they think I’m a poor Gen-Z doucher), and my KN-95 (thanks Biden). I grabbed my willy stick in case their dog Kelly wanted to yap.
I entered the house through the back door. And immediately ran into a Ford Fusion.
How the fuck did sedan get in the kitchen? I wondered. So I walked ahead in the darkness toward the fridge so I could open it to let some light in. I opened said fridge and there was nothing but Truly inside. I knew these men eat free-range beef. They’re big and strong and handsome.
Then it occurred to me — this is the garage fridge. My poor eyesight had forsaken me again. I’d entered the garage, not the kitchen. For some reason, I wondered what was in this freezer. Perhaps a popsicle. I could have a snack while burgling.
I opened the freezer. There inside was a rare Venezuelan melon. Bingo. Even better. This could sell for thousands on the Facebook marketplace. I grabbed it. But something was off. A stringy substance between my fingers. Had it rotted? Was this a rare fungus?
No. It was fucking hair. This was a head, Mr. Stein.
I began to vomit and became erect, which was extremely confusing. I turned to leave and saw two figures standing in front of me — Dave and Jeffery.
I tried to explain I was simply borrowing Truly’s, that I am a thirsty neighbor, not a burgle boy.
They didn’t believe me then proceeded to strap me to a chair, shave my head, cover my face in makeup and call me Hector. I’ve been in this garage nine days, starving to death. Their son enters on all fours every morning, a leash around his neck. He barks viciously at me, licking my legs and lapping Truly from my ears. His girlfriend puts straws in my nose and uses my Willy stick to beat my loins. Two nights ago I was lucky enough to eat pieces of the head in the freezer, and I was so hungry, it was delicious.
Right now the foursome is off at Church, so I am accessing my email by yelling to my Alexa through a cracked window. I am voice texting you.
I’d contact the police, but I am a burgle boy. Which is why you’re here now.
What options do I have? Can I sue these men? Can I sue Zoom? THEY ARE THE REAL BAD ONES HERE. Sorry can’t control caps while voice texting. Can you update my Twitch channel?
How many more days can I live in this state? Not Wisconsin but you know what I mean. Backspace. I keep asking Alexa, and she keeps playing “How Can I Live Without You?” By Trisha Yearwood which is one of my favorite songs.
Depending on how many more days I will survive, that will be the amount of time you have to respond.
Thanks,
Tom Holland... not the actor. I'm older so it was my name first.