Dear door guy,
I hope you're not still mad at me for telling you to stop creeping out my female customers when we still worked together. Not only was that almost two years ago, but it was the best advice anyone has ever given you. No cute young girl having a cocktail in Back Bay wants to hear about your obsession with guns, how your penis is small from excessive steroid use, or how you can't come from sex. I know I didn't when I was your co-worker and a waitress hosing down the patio after last call.
Trying to slander my name is hard: I do a pretty good job telling everyone about my fuckups before gossip-starved freakshows like yourself have the chance. Being hated by you is a compliment! I'm pretty sure you only cut up the girls you like into little pieces. Next time I have a beer at my old place of work, I'll warn the new waitresses not to let you walk them to the cab stand. Unless they want to wind up in your basement.
Good luck getting laid!
