This is Freaky

So I went to this blog which had a link to this blog post. One of the comments was written by a woman who recently moved to Seattle. I'm coming up on my fourth anniversary here so I thought I'd head over to her blog to check out her experiences of recently moving to this fair city.

She posted several photos of her apartment. The apartment looked kind of familiar. Then I realized she's one of my new downstairs neighbors! I haven't been this weirded out since I happened to look out my apartment window right as one of my co-workers walked by. (Since then, I've learned that he lives just a few blocks away.)

I thought about commenting on her blog and saying hello, but, since I don't have a Live Journal account, I would have had to post anonymously. I thought that would be a little too creepy.

I have a dream...

That asswipes like this get chased out of human society by a mob wielding pitchforks and torches.

"Hey there Lesotharians! I'm here to cure your AIDS. How am I gonna do that? By teaching you about Jesus. You see, I heard all about your AIDS crisis here and I thought I'd share the real cure with you. It's not going to be cured by newfangled drugs. AIDS will only be cured by my prayers, and don't forget to offer a substantial donation on your way out!

Do I care that millions of Africans are suffering from the disease? No. Do I care that Africans are so desperate for a cure that some of them will do this and many of them will resort to believing assholes like me? Hell no. I'm just out for a profit. Praise Jesus!"

I hope you enjoy my iPod, you bastard

So, did I look like a typical Seattle hipster to you? Did it look like you would get copies of this, or this, or maybe this? Ha! Well, I hope you'll enjoy Omara Portuondo, Antonio Carlos Jobim, and the Czecho-Slovak State Orchestra, you stupid bastard.

Don't worry. I've learned my lesson. From now on, I will keep any valuables at the bottom of my backpack. The next time you, or one of your buddies, rifles through my bag, all you'll get is a handful of sweaty gym sock.

I know the obsessive honesty of most Seattleites has made me complacent. Well, that complacency is in the past. Thank you Mr. Thief. Thank you.