You're the fat redneck loser who loves to stack old tires on the back of your house, taking up most of the view from my deck. I'm counting 30 or more so far. They've been sitting there for years, and from what I can tell, they serve no purpose other than making me feel like I live next door to Cooter's auto-wreck yard in The Dukes of Hazzard. Until now, you've been lucky that I'm so lazy I haven't bothered to call code enforcement on your stupid ass, given that your idiotic tire fetish happens to be a fire hazard. But lately, you've been spending your evenings stumbling around in your back yard, drinking beer and burping and hollering, “Bar-room whore!” and, “Nigger-lover!” at the top of your lungs. This shit has to stop. Welcome to code-enforcement hell, asswipe!
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 le*****@oc******.com .
