Sunday, 20 February 2011

Eviction Request

Dear sir/madam,

I have written to you several times in the past regarding my neighbours living at number 26, but I have yet to hear a response. I am sending you this third letter in the vain hope that you can find the time in between your fourth tea round and brunch to take action against the Doom family and their unsociable behaviour.

Even though I've found your council to be as affective as a porcupine's prophylactic in the past, I still hold a belief that, if presented with enough evidence, you will consider moving these unscrupulous individuals into some other hell hole. I have been keeping meticulous records of disturbances emanating from their property, so please find below a list of events that have occurred in the short space of time since I sent my last letter:

  • 9th Feb - 8.44PM: Deafening noises begin in Mr Doom's garage, and continue for at least the next two hours. Under careful observation, I detected copious amounts of radioactive material being transported into the premises by Mr Doom's eldest son. At around 10:31PM, black smog begins to billow from underneath the garage door. The next morning, my prize winning sunflowers along the border of their property have begun to shine in an unearthly manner, and also appear to whisper death threats as I pass by.
  • 11th Feb - 08:15AM: A gigantic satellite dish is positioned on the roof of their house which seems to be beaming information into the cosmos, casting a huge shadow across my vegetable patch. As this is putting my cabbages at risk, I demand that you force them to remove the offending item.
  • 11th Feb - 07:12PM: After investigating a curious tapping noise on my roof, I find Mr Doom laying telephone cable that was connected to my house back onto his own property. After confronting him and informing him that I needed to make some important complaints by telephone the next morning, he pulled out a firearm which bathed me in a mysterious green light. I awoke the next morning stripped naked on the lawn, being licked in sensitive areas by a friendly squirrel.
  • 12th Feb - 08:35AM: The very same squirrel is posted through my letterbox, minus head and skin. I assume this as a threat. From now on I shall not be confronting Mr Doom directly, and demand the local authorities take immediate action to guarantee the safety of the neighbourhood.
  • 14th Feb - 09:10PM: Mr and Mrs Doom are spotted having a romantic evening by flying around the estate with jetpacks on. Bobbing around my upstairs window in the pale moonlight is an invasion of my privacy, but the situation became more disturbing when they decided to make love in my apple tree.
  • 16th Feb - 03:03AM: A vortex is opened above Mr Doom's house, releasing hells fiendish minions across suburbia. The process sets off several car alarms, which I'm sure would have woken the children of the neighbourhood.
  • 17th Feb - 07:30PM: A vast array of doomsday vehicles including mole cars, Apache helicopters, and teleportation devices park illegally all over the street, blocking off driveways and dropped curbs. It appears that Mr Doom is hosting some sort of dinner party for evil geniuses and his driveway is filled with hideous gargantuan henchmen. As I was supposed to be hosting an annual general meeting of the curtain-twitching society that evening, many people failed to find appropriate parking and had to leave.
  • 19th Feb - 09:41AM: After checking the asphalt on my driveway, I discover a large simmering hole. Since I witnessed several disturbances the night before as a rugged young man was seen running away from the property with a scantily clad maiden under a heavy amount of artillery, I can only assume that Mr Doom's plasma turrets had misfired and ruined my crazy paving.
As I'm sure you'll agree, Mr Doom's behaviour is hardly conducive to a harmonious neighbourhood, and I demand that the council relocates his family as soon as possible. My property value plummets daily with the constant tremors caused by his incessant burrowing into the Earth's crust, and his curious habit of harvesting the power of molten lava. This used to be such a wonderful area, with only a couple of stabbings every few months. Nowadays, I dare not venture beyond my own boundaries lest I be melted by a heat ray, or sexually assaulted by a lumbering genetic hybrid henchman.