October 01 2012
Dear Ghost or Ghosts Who Live In My Apartment,
You’re freaking out my dog and I want it to stop.
I realize this building was built in 1832 so you probably have squatters rights or whatever so you can legally screw around in here — but I’d like you to change your “scary” game. Haunting my dog is getting on my nerves. I upsets me to see him upset. I’d rather be upset by your shenanigans.
When Roscoe stares in the corner of the room at nothing and barks. Or when he comes running into the bedroom in a panic and jumps into the bed with us. Shaking and panting — it’s sort of pathetic. Haunting a dog? That’s your thing?? Weak sauce.
Change it up! Move some stuff around in here! Slam down a window! Dump out everything in the fridge and go all Paranormal Activity up in here with swinging lights or whatever. Pull out a chair! Rattle crap! But stop messing with my boy. If you’re making faces at him or pretending you’re hanging from a noose or whatever gigglies you’re getting from haunting him… It’s enough. It’s amateur, bro.
I don’t mind you living here and I’m totally fine with you doing scary stuff to me (frankly, you proving there’s an afterlife would be well worth whatever scare tactic you’d use to do so)- but don’t make me make you my GB! (Ghost bitch). I’ll ghostbust your ass with some smudge stick nun-chucks or whatever! Ectoplaz your colonial nutsack if this sht don’t stop!
Step up your game or head into the light with Carol Anne!
Just leave Roscoe alone. Please?