If you are reading this letter, it means that I’m dead and you are now residing in the home I once occupied. Please get off of your phone and read this.
Before I died, and well before I had become a bitter old man, I decided to sit down and pen a letter to the future homeowner, which I guess is you.
It was my initial hope that this letter would provide you with some useful information about this amazing home, as well as some tips and pointers on how to maintain the green and lush lawn I have spent so many decades cultivating. I also wanted to warn you about the influx of the younger and entitled generations of neighbors that have been cropping up.
Sadly, it dawned on me that you are probably one of these young whippersnappers, full of annoying entitlement. Therefore, the tenor of this letter has changed. Now, its purpose is no longer to provide useful information to you. It’s to crush your spirit and to instill fear in you, which it will because you are a wimp.
Back around 2025 or so, we began to see these young families infiltrate the neighborhood. Some of them were born in the late 1990s. How audacious! They arrived in their Prius cars and with a strong desire to forego land lines. What kind of idiot relinquishes their home phone?!
We fought them off for several decades, yelling obscenities at their kids, who had dog names like Rex, and their dogs, who had kid names like Madison. “Get off our lawn!” we’d yell at Rex the boy and Madison the dog. We were successful at first, but they came in generational waves, eventually outnumbering us. By “us,” I mean the greatest generation of all time: Generation X. By 2045, there was nothing but these technology-driven, pleated-pants–wearing, coiffed-haired, banker types in the neighborhood. Half of them hadn’t even heard of Nirvana or Rolling Rock.
Admittedly, I am bitter about this on two fronts. Obviously, I’m upset about being dead. I was incredible when I was alive and – no offense, but I doubt you’ll be able to live up to the standards I’ve created for this wonderful home.
Second, I’m concerned about you potentially screwing up the lawn I spent decades making beautiful. Again, no offense, but you seem lazy.
My wife and I purchased this home in 2003, from the original home owner who’d occupied it since 1961. When we attended the open house, we noticed that she had a lot of lamps. Our first action in the house was to remove the lamps and add recessed lighting. Eventually, over many projects, we turned this home into what you reside in now.
In short, we did the work and now you are enjoying the fruits of our labor. Based on this, you owe us $585,241. I’m providing you with a routing # for my grown grandchildren’s checking account. Please ensure that they receive what is owed to our family immediately.
Before I left, I booby-trapped a few rooms to welcome you to this humble abode. Nothing major. Just a few loose planks on the stairwells, a little trip wire in the hallway . . . nothing to worry about. It’s all in good fun – for me. Not for you. Leaving directions to the nearest hospital at the end of this letter was merely coincidental on my part.
Oh, one more thing. The house is potentially haunted – by me. I may or may not be buried in the crawl space. I invite you to come in and have a look for yourself.
In closing, welcome to this great (and potentially haunted) house. Take care of this home as you would take care of your dog Madison and your son Rex. Honestly, why couldn’t you just name your dog and kids like most people do?
Bank routing #: 867-5309
Wifi Login: YouaretheworstandIhateyourface
Directions to the Hospital:
Make your first right on Main Street, second left on First, and proceed two miles to United Hospital.
It would’ve been possible to call for an ambulance had you not gotten rid of your land line. Dummy.
P.S. Don’t screw up my lawn.