This one’s based on a true story, except that my wife and I were the ones getting a highlighted, laminated chunk of town code left on our door, and it was due to a garbage can being in the wrong place rather than due to our mailbox’s hue approximating that of an inebriated tropical avian’s stomach contents. And it wasn’t even our garbage can. We still have no idea who left a garbage can in the street by our house, but it had been removed by the time we got the neighborly note, after which I had to talk my lovely bride out of writing profanities in large red letters on our front windows (a difficult task given that I shared the sentiment.)
We never knew which of our neighbors left this little passive-aggressive token of neighborliness, but I remember thinking of:
1. How sad it was that someone who spends a good chunk of their life within a hundred yards of us would rather sneak a nasty impersonal laminated note onto our property than knock on the door and ask a question.
2. The astonishing number of worthwhile things I could get done if I had the free time required to obsess over garbage cans near other people’s yards and print and laminate town codes to address my feelings on the matter.
MRS. SHOEBOX’S ASSESSMENT OF TODAY’S STRIP: Oh god. F***ing neighbors.
In other news, a new song from my comedy music project, Worm Quartet, is now available for free streaming (and 99-cent download) at The FuMP! It’s about math!
See you next week, people! Thanks as always!