Remember memorizing the Declaration of Independence?
In a nutshell, the Declaration of Independence was pretty much the Americans telling the Brits to go f**k themselves. And one guy had the balls to write his name REALLY big. Yep. John Hancock. We’ve all seen it. Or, at least, we should have seen it in 8th grade US History. After watching those street walking videos with Jay Leno and other night time hosts, it’s clear the youth of today isn’t quite up to date with their history. Nonetheless. Not my point here.
While building my house, I had to live somewhere. Owning real estate rentals has its rewards. Solved that problem. Just move into one of them and live free rent while I’m building my home and to be fair, building my life. It was in turmoil the first couple years of my divorce. Where to live. Who to date. How to navigate the dating and divorce waters in Dallas. No easy task. Even for the very strong. A nauseating emotional roller coaster. Get me the f*ck off this ride.
Did I happen to mention my rentals are for college kids. Wealthy, entitled kids. The kind that drive $100,000 Mercedes. I shouldn’t complain. They are really nice condos. I know. Because I built them. I do have other talents other than running my mouth.
I digress.
While living amongst your tenants and underage, entitled college students with your 4 children is torture. Even with the eye candy in the pool. I didn’t bat an eye when asked to judge their belly flop contest. They all lost because none of them have a belly. Yet. Anyhow. Give it time.
Occasionally (ok, I mean RARELY), my kids would have a sleep over. Not because I wouldn’t let them. More like the other parents were scared. Honestly, I didn’t blame them. The judgmental fucks that they are. Of course, they had no issue with their kids spending the night when I lived in that multimillion dollar home prior to my divorce. Don’t get me started. Off topic.
One VERY early morning (that’s code for 10 am), the boys were playing catch in the U shaped driveway. As expected, NOBODY was up but my kids. Later that day, I received one of those “Go F**k Yourself” notes. “All of the tenants do NOT appreciate your son and his friends playing football at 8am on a Sunday morning”. I guess his watch was set to Pacific standard time. We are on central time here. Keep up, honey.
Thanks for the note. But I’m not sure who it’s from. I’m guessing it’s from the kid I told to pick up his trash. He didn’t like me telling him what to do. Entitled little shit.
Back to the handwritten note. Shockingly, there is NO SIGNATURE? Didn’t you learn anything in 8th grade US History? When you want to tell somebody off, have the courage to let them know who you are. Makes for a far better impression. Simple. Not complicated. Makes the statement you surely intended.
Keep up college boys. I know mom and dad are paying a shitload to keep you in this school. What I don’t get is how the hell did you get in, anyway? I won’t generalize and say all these kids are entitled but the ones I’ve dealt with have certainly lived up to my expectations.
We (my ex and I-we are still business partners) were told by some of our tenants that they couldn’t be bothered to clean up the condo when they moved out. “Take it out of our deposit.” Smug little pricks. Fine. I guess we’ll keep your Nike shoe box you left. “Sorry, Mr. Means. We will be right over to get that.” We should have kept that box. Oh, the fun we could have had.
We have parents who give us 12 post dated checks to deposit for their kid’s rent. Guess those kids can’t be responsible enough to walk over a check to their landlord just a few blocks away. But they give them a $100,000 car to drive. And extra to pay for their extra curricular activities. But, I suppose getting those 12 post dated checks is far better than calling them asking them where their rent is. We had one kid tell us, “I told you not to bother me. Call my mother.” Ummmm….what? Good luck being responsible and paying that mortgage in your future.
What the actual fuck is wrong with these kids? And who the hell raised them? They don’t want to be accountable for anything. Except their pot. And their uninterrupted sleep.
I guess they have been touching screens their entire life that they don’t know how to write their signature.
No wonder he didn’t sign it. He didn’t know how.
