Open Letter Day

(To the previous owner of my House)

Dear Dipshit:

I'm honestly not sure whether I should be filled with pity for you, or filled with a desire to see you tied to a stake and stoned for general nincompoopery...probably the most critical mental coin toss in human history. But late yesterday afternoon, I was definitely looking for a suitable post hole digger.

To wit: I was removing and replacing a couple of the dreadful light fixtures you yourself had replaced (leaving lovely paint gaps, too) and I saw where you had some trouble with one of the mounting screws. You know...the ones which screw upwards into the utility box to, you know, HOLD the light in place? Yeah. That one. Wanna know how I know you had trouble?

Picture it. There I was. No shit. Standing on my mini scaffold bench. All set to install the new hanging fixture my bride liked so much. Could I hang it correctly? Nope. No chance. Your trouble spot? Staring me in the eyes, laddy-buck. That screw hole? Stripped. Not a thread remaining. Imagine how I looked as I managed to effortlessly push that #10 machine screw through the hole with noooooooooo effort whatsoever.

Kinda defeats the whole purpose, don't it? I mean, I can't hang a light fixure with one screw, can I? (although, judging from the previous light, you managed to....how it stayed up is a puzzle for household physicists everywhere.)

Anyway, Mr. Braintrust, in whatever home you own now, if you fuck up and strip the screwhole in a junction box, suck it up and replace it! Don't leave the next poor bastard to figure out how to do so on his own. Although, in your defence, I'm not sure how we could have removed that puppy without removing six square feet of drywall. (I will forward you a copy of my letter to subdivision homebuilders; subject: Consideration of replacability of basic outlets and junction boxes as installed by fuckwitted builders to save the asses of competent DIY-ers who discover your fuckups. Like, seriously, dudes...why did you screw it in from the TOP as well as from the sides?)

I recognize that you're the same mental pigmy who couldn't install drywall if your very life depended on it, not that *that* little hurdle seemed to slow you down, if the basement is any indication.

Anyway dude, seriously, don't try any renovations in the new place, ok? You're more a danger to yourself than others.

Cheers,

Mossy.

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(To Hampton Bay lighting, the designers of my new kitchen hanging light fixture)

Dear Cocksuckers:

I recently had the indescribable pleasure of installing your Model ****** 5-light hanging fixture in my kitchen. After coming up with an innovative solution to a stripped screw fitting I struggled to hang your light properly. You see, you provided this wonderful diagram of the components of the fixture, but you were a little skosh on the best way to install that bad boy. I mean, it's all well and good to tell us how the componends go together, but if one follows the instructions to the letter, one winds up with a brutally twisted mass of cables as the fixture threads onto the centre screw. This little glitch triggered much consternation in my bride, and no short of questioning of your collective parentage and brain power on my part.

I was going to give you some detailed instructions on how to sort out your diagram, but I'm pretty sure you wouldn't understand them. After all, its MAKES SENSE to do it my way. Besides, I'm not sure I can adequately detail the physical contortions required, nor can I articulate the marital care and handling instructions needed, because this little gem can put marriages in jeopardy (not ours, of course....we're well-hardened to these little frustrations, havign survived the installation of new laminate flooring, tile flooring, bedroom painting, storm doors, drywall installation, and wallpaper borders...all with nary a bad word.)

Anyway, folks. Get some REAL DIY-ers in there to try installing it from scratch and see what you can do about those instructions, k? Otherwise, you're gonna have some real goat-fucked lamps out there with YOUR name on them.

Lotsa love,

Mossy