hot girls don't typo

To the person that stole my beloved jacket,

In the apartment adjacent to mine on the top floor lives a handicapped guy perfectly in between South Park’s Jimmy and Timmy in terms of disability. He loves throwing down bread and peanuts to feed the birds from his deck. Actually, we might be in more of a Timmy situation as I’ve noticed that entire slices of bread are getting the heave-ho since I don’t think he can very well tear the bread in pieces. Thief, this guy loves feeding the birds as much as I used to love wearing my Ben Sherman track jacket, which is/was to say, a whole lot.

The problem here is that this has led to a giant bird-shit-all-over-the-cars situation, mine included. I can’t very well unload piles of verbal venom at my neighbor as it’s one of his few pleasures in life and he rules at it, nor do I have the capacity to kill all of the birds. Thief, this brings me to you as we’re in a similar predicament. What am I supposed to do about our situation? I mean, you stole my second favorite jacket from the bar on my birthday. Please allow me to break it down.

This is what I know about you pre jacket theft:

• You probably drink alcohol
• You probably didn’t drink enough as you were still chilly, which would make you a pussy or a girl as it was perfectly warm out at the estimated time you decided you needed my jacket

This is what I know about you post jacket theft:

• You are a huge dick
• You have seriously amazing taste in jackets, kudos

This is what I need you to know about me:

• I have a decently built upper body and I was filling the jacket to near capacity, therefore you can’t be bigger than me
• I tend to plan ahead - so if you are bigger than me and merely planned on holding my jacket over your shoulder - be aware that I can seriously fuck up the shit of both Englishmen and Tom Cruise from the 80s
• I am fully aware of the mild, yet distinct ink stains on the jacket for identification
• I wore three new Ben Sherman shirts in a row this week which caused two different co-workers to ask me how much he was paying me
• I realize that although you might steal from me, you would never tease me about Ben Sherman

Thief, this is my proposal to you. One: You don’t give me back my jacket and I render you unconscious by dropping the shit master’s wheelchair on your head after which I carry your ragdoll body to the Gas Works Park sundial and cover you with slices of bread and peanuts. Two: You give me back my jacket and we become friends with a mutual affinity for Ben Sherman who happen to have a unique how-we-met story. We will discuss fashions at the bar with an intensity similar to the Sex and the City girls as well as Hans Gruber, the original master who could do it all day.

I trust you’ll make the right decision.