Hey, You!

Illustration by Bob Aul

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It isn't just that your loser half-pint boyfriend went bragging to anyone who would listen that you were so smart when you put your assets in your dad's name in order to scam your way into low-income housing in Laguna Beach. Nor that you are the nosiest person on the planet, butting into other people's lives and spreading gossip about their incomes, lifestyles and friends. It isn't that while you spread rumors of drug abuse and accuse your neighbors of being on drugs it's you who is all tweaked out. It isn't that brand spanking new Prius parked in your spot or even all the lies you've told about how you lost your leg (though I admit the mountain climbing accident story sounds a lot better than crashing your car while high on drugs). No, you crossed the line when you heaved that bucket of your urine (you know, the bucket you keep by your bed since you are too lazy to get up in the night) out the window onto the new neighbor as he was moving in because you decided it was too late for him to be moving into the building. You are the definition of a tweaked-out asshole scumbag. All your neighbors hate you. I can't wait for the day you and your chronically unemployed Napoleon complex-addled drugmate, er boyfriend, are not only bounced from the building, but thrown in jail.

Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/o OC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Ste. 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701-7417, or e-mail us at letters@ocweekly.com.