What I should have received in my mailbox this morning:
I wanted to notify you of a party we will be holding at my home this afternoon/evening as a courtesy.
Of note, the worst band on the face of the earth will be playing live from approximately 3:00 pm until midnight. And they are LOUD. Probably a relative, friend or current lover of mine is in the band because no one, and I mean NO ONE in their right mind would ever actually hire them for any venue. Ever.
Additionally, I will leave my neglected, un-socialized, hyper-vocal, flea-ridden dog tied on the other side of the yard for the duration of the performance. He will, of course, bark incessantly in protest of the melee but his cries will be drowned out by the awful, awful music. That is, until the band takes a break (which we have conveniently scheduled in conjunction with your daughter’s bed time). That will allow you ample time to experience his tortured cries solo.
I suspect that I will, predictably, get so drunk that I will get naked and end up in my hot tub (again) by or about 2:00 am. As you are well aware by now, alcohol makes be belligerent and loud, so I expect to pick a fight with one of my lingering guests and we will, inevitably, end up flinging garbage over the fence into your yard, as I am prone to do.
And finally, there will be fireworks.
I look forward to several visits from the local police department beginning 10:00 pm or shortly thereafter this evening. Your involvement is appreciated.