Daily Gripe

Mr. Pid has gone fishing. I will gripe next year.

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is about truck drivers who give interviews to the newspaper. And then, the newspapers publish this so called interview. First of all, your opinion is one sided and it's wrong. Your opinion does not align with mine. Your words and thoughts are based on feelings and emotions.

You claim that the traffic back-ups on roads are caused by cars not tucks. HAH. Your statement about being able to look down into a car is disturbing. We all know why you look down into cars and it is not to see us using our cell phones. Saying all car drivers use their cell phones while driving is bunk - absolute bunk. Maybe you don't have a cell phone but you got that there CB radio hooked to your lips. Telling all the other truckers to slow down - radar ahead or a beaver in a red sports car. Yep you were looking down again.

Then, you have the nerve to complain because some states make you drive in the right hand lane. If I was in charge of that state I would make you'all travel elsewhere - like another country. You belong in the slow lane.

What really causes the back-ups on the highway is when two trucks travel side- by- side - uphill on a two lane highway. Can anyone in a car get by? No! And the speed you are traveling side-by-side - uphill is well below the speed limit.

Tires, tires - shredded all along our major and minor roads. These are truck tires not CAR tires and we have to swerve to miss the sometimes large objects. The county, state or local government has to pay someone to clean up after you. Why can't you clean up after yourself? Or volunteer to adopt a highway.

So, don't be pointing the finger at cars for causing back-ups and traffic delays. Car drivers really know who the culprits are in traffic delays and congestion.

10-4 good buddy,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is travel by car. I have just returned on a whirlwind trip from Florida to Virginia and back to Florida. Traffic!! Headaches!!! Crazy drivers!!!! Road construction!!!!! You know it's a bad sign when you leave in the pouring rain, in the dark and it's almost freezing. The lines painted on the road are fading. I don't know exactly what lane i'm in? The downpour does not help the situation. Cars are whizzing by my leaving me completely in their wake of sloppy rain.
By the time I hit North Carolina the rain has leveled off but still dark and gloomy. I can live with sprinkles and dark and gloomy. What is impossible to accept is the traffic jams. All through North Carolina I am traveling at a parking lot pace. South Carolina brings an end to the drizzle. Still dark and gloomy and still I95 looks like the mall parking lot the day before Christmas. I don't see any accidents. I don't see any speed traps. Like anyone could speed! What's the problem?
Georgia has a bit of sunshine and apparently has chased away the gloomy darkness. Still, the creep mode along I95 continues. I have been in the car for 11 hours. I'm cranky, hungry and have drivers cramps. The last three miles to the hotel exit is excruciating. The cars are at a total standstill. My temperment is ready to explode.
Finally, finally, the hotel looms in sight. I can feel the soft comfy bed beneath my road weary body. The parking lot at Cracker Barrell is only 3/4 full. That means the hour wait is only 15 minutes, if we are lucky. I check into the hotel and flop on the bed. AAAHHHHHH.
A good meal and a great night sleep and I can get up and start the road rodeo all over again. I ask myself? Why don't you just fly? But I have no patience for sitting in an airport dealing with delays, late departures and expensive cardboard food.

travel on,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is once again before the event. I know it will happen so I will spout off now. Traffic construction - on roadways. This construction or lack there-of sometimes - always – always - takes place on the roads that I travel. Why is this?
I will see the sign, “Right lane closed 1,000 feet ahead." The flags, the orange cones line the shoulder. I budged over into the left lane. Cars and TRUCKS go barreling down the almost empty right lane. And here I am clogged in the slow moving responsible lane. Traffic in my lane moving slower than a snails pace: speeding vehicles in the right lane making tracks leaving me in the wake of their dust. I love those signs in the water –No Wake Zone. People always obey that sign. Minutes turn into frustrating eons as cars on the right still speed by. Why am I still in the left lane?
So, I go for broke and ease over into the right lane. I have broken free, spit at the rules and followed my own destiny. INSTANTLY. The right lane is blocked by orange cones and signs. What happened to all those speeders? It’s almost as if it was a mirage. Perhaps I was hallucinating. Did I really see all those cars rolling past me? Now here I am STUCK in the black hole of travel construction. No one absolutely no one will let me budge back in. Time is like watching water boil on a turned off stove. A lesson learned well.
A few miles down the road in another state the signs appear again. The orange cones are striking against the bleak roadside scenery. This time I will stay in the proper lane: for miles upon miles if necessary. The sun begins to dip behind the horizon of stopped traffic. Cars fly by in the right hand lane like demons from the deathly hallows. Did I tell the hotel I may be a late arrival? Will they give my room away to one of the demon drivers in the right hand lane? I would call to verify but my cell phone is dead and the car charger has been missing for weeks.
Darkness floats across the quiet highway. I hate driving at night. My contacts turn the night lights into a festival New Year’s celebration. I can’t take them out as I left my contact case packed in my luggage. I can’t toss them out the window as I only brought one pair. I am always so prepared for life.
My stomach growls in protest. I see the exit sign and feel some relief. I ease over into the right hand lane to make my turn. And where oh where is – was that construction? I sat patiently in that lane with gazillions of other responsible road warriors - for WHAT? You stopped construction at noon and never took down those &*@#%^& signs. There should be a law against such abuse.

Forever in my pure thoughts,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is a future gripe. It’s an inevitable gripe that will come to haunt me within minutes of my entrance upon the interstate. I am preparing for my road trip physically and emotionally. This gripe is for all the road range warriors terrorizing the rest of us. I will post the notice discreetly at all the over crowded rest areas. I will stand in line to the restroom with the masses of weary travelers. I will tape the notice to the inside of the stall door and search for toilet paper that will be on the floor in a puddle of water. A trick of the traveler trade is to always carry t.p. with you and I will. Preparation is the key to a happy and dry ending. Hopefully you will read the notice and see that it does pertain to YOU!!!! If you must drive - please drive somewhere else. Use your frequent flier miles or take a tour bus. Or better yet - stay home - give me peace for the holidays.

Rules for YOU to follow:

put down the cell phone
read a map at a rest area
move over
travel the speed limit
get out of my way
use turn signals
get off the road
stop text messaging
turn off your blinker
weave a rug not a destination
the lines are on the road for a reason
go home
take a bus, a plane or train
fix a flat on the shoulder of the road
slow down
red lights mean STOP
green lights mean GO
if you miss the exit – take the next one
right turn – right lane
left turn – left lane
sightseeing tours next Tuesday
move over and let me pass
merge is a traffic term - not grafatti painted on the road

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe begins before the infraction. I am preparing for my road trip down the interstate. I know road rules will be broken so my gripe is proactive. This can apply to any interstate – anywhere, anytime. It involves – trucks. I choose my words with care as I do not want to become Jimmy Hoffa’s roommate. I do believe that trucks and truckers are outlaws of the modern highway. John Wayne would never have ridden his horse with such unsavory tactics.
I have made a list of rules for these road warriors. I will discreetly post them at all rest areas and truck stops.

1. obey the speed limit
2. stay in the slow lane
3. when the sign says - no trucks left lane – it means trucks
4. use your turn signal when you decide to cut me off
5. no side by side driving
6. stay in the slow lane
7. take an alternate route
8. take an extended holiday
9. when traveling uphill – stay in the slow lane
10. get off my bumper
11. intimidation is an act of ornithine (look it up)
12. do not travel in packs
13. rad racer is a video game – not real life
14. pick up your tire refuse
15. adopt a highway – in another state
16. stay in the slow lane
17. 95 is not the speed limit it means I-95 the interstate
18. merge means merge
19. the sign with a picture of a truck in a circle with a line through it means – no trucks
20. travel the roads between 10 pm and 6 am, do not work weekends, holidays or any day of the week that ends in Y and stay in the slow lane

10-4 good buddy,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is very specific and it targets product manufactures and their packaging woes or mine. And once again that packaging issue that gets under my thin skin. I purchased this timer for my watering system. It’s actually the third one I have purchased recently. So I should have known better.
The other two timers blew out. Apparently you need a pressure release value on these. No where on the packaging does it state this needed item. No where on the package does it state you need a 9 volt battery. Once again off to the hardware store, using up precious expensive gas and thereby adding to the ozone effect.
I can’t afford a hybrid vehicle so I make do with what I have. I do have a bike that I use for local purchases but never do I ride my pedal pusher vehicle on the main roads. It’s a jungle out there.
My next purchase is a 9 volt battery. They come in pairs. One cannot buy a single 9 volt battery. At least these are not leaking acid like the batteries to the clearance flashlight I bought. So let’s go back to my original gripe of packaging nightmares. I need to know information pertaining to your product. I am not a mind reader or expert. Well, I do believe I am filled with expertise just not in that category. My expertise of late is griping and I am proud as a turkey about that. I can’t say – proud as a peacock – that term is so overused. Turkeys aren’t as pretty or as smart as peacocks. I go with the underdog. I see myself as an underdog always at the mercy of others.

P.S. I just opened the junk drawer in the kitchen to put away the remaining 9 volt battery. There for the entire world to see is the last two pack (1 left) 9 volt battery I purchased for the last now defunct timer.


Truly yours,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is to those who DO NOT abide by the rules and regulations of the Home Owners Association. Yes, you! Non-compliance of the regulations and rules of the community is a dastardly offense. The rules clearly state – No parking on grass and roadways. They also specify no vehicles blocking sidewalks. You know that would be when a truck is parked across the sidewalk and hangs off into the road.
So on my nightly dog walk I get to your house and your truck is across the sidewalk blocking pedestrian traffic. I am subjected to walking in the road with my dog. And then your neighbor has four cars parked in the roadway. A clear violation of the rules set forth by the committee who regulates our community. They did have nice white wall tires.
I end up walking between parked cars on a cul – de –sac that at times is heavily traveled. My life and my dog’s life have been put at risk by those who cannot follow the rules and regulations. I do not usually park on the roadway or the grass. Those few times were absolutely necessary. I will admit to never interfering with pedestrian flow on my sidewalks.
I do carry with me at all times my plastic litter bag for Fido’s droppings. Oh, they are big and stinky droppings. The rules and regulations of the Home Owners Association clearly states that everyone must clean up after their pets. Nowhere in the rules and regulations does it define what one should do with the waste. Since there are no specific rules or regulations pertaining to dog refuse I used my imagination. I left my bag on the bumper of your truck.

Neighborly,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is shopping. Actually not shopping but checking out at the registers. Step one is to find one open with not an excessively long line. I remember a big discount store that had a banner hanging above all their checkouts. It said – Customer Service- If there are more than three customers in line we will open another register. Well, I put that propaganda to the test. They have removed the banner.
So I am lucky enough to find an available register with a smiley faced associate. I swipe my debit card through the machine. They are all different.
And Ms. Smiley Face requests my phone number. Politely I tell her I don’t give that information out. I want to be able to make it through dinner without a telemarketer calling. Then she requests my zip code. Big brother needs to keep track of me I’m guessing. Now I feel like this is an intrusion into my private world. So I snap – NO.
I just want to buy two items. Why is this so difficult?
There is a problem with the transaction and she sweetly asks for another card swipe. I respond somewhat annoyed and punch in my PIN number. Then she says – “I need your last name.”
“It’s a debit card,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Now it is asking for your address,” she says softly.
I do not want to give someone a dissertation of my entire life. I just want to purchase two items and go about my life.
"It’s not accepting the debit. You will have to put it through credit,” she states.
Now it seems like I have done something wrong and the computer is revolting. Is it because I refused to give up my phone number and zip code? The transaction is finally completed and I leave a bit frustrated.
I go home and open the clearance flashlight, complete with batteries and try it out. The batteries are leaking acid and the inside of the flashlight has rusted. I toss them back in the bag to be returned. I go outside and plug in the new sump pump. Nothing, nada. It doesn’t work. I head back to the store trying extremely hard to think good thoughts.


Holiday Cheer,

Mr. Pid

Florida Insurance

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is with Insurance companies.
I have a dog and I live in Florida. My home owners insurance WILL NOT cover him as he is on the BAD dog list. He is a German Shepard. So we go without coverage on him with our policy. This German Shepard is the kindest, loveable sweetest dog you are ever met but he is on the BAD dog list. Isn’t that profiling?
If there were a history of bad behavior I might understand this policy. Our yard is even fenced. Several times the gate was left open and he never left his yard.
My other dog is a Shih-Tzu and not on the BAD dog list, although he should be. He will bite you in a second if given the chance.
Why are the insurance companies being specific dog unfriendly? Actually in Florida they are also people unfriendly. And they target everyone regardless of who, where or what they are.
In North Carolina we had insurance coverage for our dog. In New York we had insurance coverage for our dog. Florida insurance – home owners (the absolute worst), car insurance (a joke), and health insurance (pathetic) I wish I could be a lobbyist for the people!

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is about shoes. I love shoes and would rather go shoe shopping than breathe. A closet full of shoes is so very uplifting. It gives me great pride also to get my shoes on clearance or 50 % off. I like my shoes to look good but most of all the need to be comfy.
I have an injured (permanently) left foot. My plantar fascia has been operated on and hurts most of the time. I do have a lift I wear in my shoes so it interferes with some shoe styles. Lately I have decided comfort means more than style.
I found these shoes and have been doing online research about them. No they are not orthopedic shoes. They are quite stylish and have rave reviews. The selection is acceptable.
I found an online store for these marvelous wonders. Sticker shock!!!! Whoa!!! A few pairs were $299. Is it worth it? Should I? It would certainly put a crimp on my shoe buying for the year.
Why, oh why are these regular looking shoes so pricey? They are not in the ‘green’ category. They are not worn by sports stars or movie stars. They’re just plain looking shoes: shoes that are supposed to make your life more enjoyable. So do I bite the bullet?
Walk on I say.

Still contemplating,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is about product packaging. Why is it that sometimes the packaging is so much larger and bulkier than the product? For example: an over the counter medicine for acid reflux. It comes in a heavy duty cardboard container. You open it and inside are three more cardboard containers. You open them and tiny pills are encased in heavy duty plastic. The directions say to remove the backing and push the pill out. Yeah right! It doesn’t work according to the directions. I end up cutting off the ends and then pushing out the pink little pill that inevitably falls on the floor and if I am slow the dog licks it up. I have no doubt that he does not suffer from acid reflux. When the task is completed I have this huge pile of waste. I am at a loss to the reasoning of this packaging.
The best is any type of electronic gadget that you purchase. Those babies are pressure sealed in an airtight container. Once again I take the scissors out to open this small package. My light just went on!!! Fiskars must be collaborating with the packaging manufactures.

Truly yours,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is with the trash truck: or as it is so eloquently named – waste management vehicle. We don’t manage our trash. We dump it and let it pile sky high, then build a park on it and call it Mt. Trashmore.
This gripe goes beyond what we do with our trash actually it comes before what we do with our trash. Precisely at 2 AM in the morning. This is when our waste management company picks up the trash. Yep – 2 AM. Most residents are sleeping or trying to sleep when the old truck blast through the cul-de-sac. I hear it several blocks away even when all the windows and doors are shut. At times I am so startled that I jump out of bed and lose my balance, fall on the floor, hit my head and come close to an emergency room visit.
If indeed they need to prowl the neighborhood at 2 AM could they perhaps be a little quieter? Are all trash truck (waste management vehicles) really that noisy? Does the manufacture make them that way on purpose? Am I being punished for having trash?
After my sleep is disturbed I watch outside as they swoop down pick up my nice new trashcan and toss it wherever. Sometimes it lands on the sidewalk, the middle of the road or the neighbor’s driveway. Two days later I find one of my trash can wheels stuck in the street drain.
A few times we have received nasty grams attached to the cans; the cans still full of trash. Apparently we went over the weight restrictions. So what do they do weigh the trash before dumping it? I cannot find any weight restrictions on my bill.
I could use bags but then the feral dogs rip it apart and make a mess. I end up trotting down the cul-de-sac picking up my credit card statements and empty beer cans. And all this is done with me wearing my pink reindeer cotton nightie. Isn’t that a wonderful sight for all to see after they have been woken up by all the noise? Frightening!

Sincerely,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is sensitive. I don’t mean to offend people, places, things, values or religious affiliations. I do celebrate Christmas. I even call it Christmas - not Happy Holidays. A happy holiday is when I take a vacation.
Do a search on Christmas and this is what you get.
http://christmas-2007.net/search.php?q=meaning+of+christmas&said=Achri_free
It’s all about the shopping, buying spending your hard earned money on someone’s product.
http://www.shop.com/+-a-what+is+christmas-p55735667-k36-st.shtml

I am still searching for the real meaning of Christmas.

http://www.christiananswers.net/christmas/home.html

Next on the list is the ‘Holier than thou” peoples.

So it seems Christmas is very individualized and that’s the way it should be. Believe in what you believe in and let it go. Let me put up my Christmas tree, sing Christmas carols, make Christmas cookies.




Lovingly,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is twofold. Those stunt drivers that prowl the streets on their crotch rockets and those skinny guys with black skin tight pants. I don’t know who is the worst? You have the cyclists riding three abreast on a main road. I understand that bikes have the same rights as cars but you don’t see three Mini Coopers riding in one lane. Ride in the road but do it in a single line, just like the rest of us. And are those shorts painted on? Does your skin peel off when the pants come off? And what about that weird helmet you wear? You look like some lost alien or a broken bobble-head toy. I would almost like to nominate you for the matching outfit/bike award.
And you on the red rocket with your shirt billowing up near your head, weaving in and out of traffic faster than I can spit my gum out the window. There was that time during a summer traffic jam when you rode down the median. I guess motorcycle rules are different than car rules. And you don’t have a matching outfit. And you don’t have a helmet. I will simply refer to you as an organ donor. A little advice – if you had a chick perched behind you your shirt wouldn’t get blown up around your head.

Truly yours,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello, my name is Stu. Today my gripe is about people who drive on the road. And that could be quite a few people. My biggest complaint is drivers who are driving in the left hand lane on any interstate or a highway where the speed limit is more than 45. Actually it’s on any highway that I travel on. Yes, that would be you. If I remember correctly the left lane is used for passing. This means if you are in the right hand lane behind Mr. Pokey, talking on his phone, having breakfast, reading a roadmap or just plain oblivious to the world: this is the criteria.

Make sure no one is in the left lane.
Turn on blinker and proceed to left lane.
Step on the gas and move forward at a high rate of speed.
Give Mr. Pokey the finger.
Swerve over into the right hand lane directly in front of Mr. Pokey.
Slowing down is acceptable.
If Mr. Pokey tries to pass speed up.
Once he has given up slow down again.
Continue this process till you feel warm all over.
If that warmth is from the coffee, hire a lawyer.

That is what the left hand lane was made for – NOT – driving slowly, looking around or not, trying to smell the roses through closed windows. You can be oblivious at home in your driveway. Oh, and don’t even try to make that right hand turn from the left hand lane! Road rage is not beneath me.

Regards,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello my name is Stu. Today my gripe is about those who park illegally in the fire lane. Why do you believe it is okay to park in the fire lane? You park directly beneath the sign that says ‘NO PARKING’ - ‘Fire Lane’. Is there something about this sign that you do not understand? Are you unable to read? Are you just plain lazy? How will you feel when an emergency vehicle cannot get into the store?

Perhaps you feel this sign does not mean you? Perhaps you believe you are special. Well, let me tell you – this sign is for you and you are not special. If you look there is a real parking space 20 feet away. But that may require you to walk a few extra feet. And believe me; it ain’t going to hurt you. Walk off a few of those extra pounds you’ve been carrying.
So the next time you park there illegally, I will be watching. I will stare you down. Although I don’t think you have the intelligence to get the drift. I may bring my camera take a picture of your car and license plate number and turn it into the authorities. This might be a great idea. Here’s the plan – everyone take a snapshot of this person and their license plate number – breaking the law. Then I will start a website to post the images of these abusers.

Sincerely,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello my name is Stu. Today my gripe is about some people who write checks at the grocery store. I have nothing against checks and occasionally I write them myself. I am a debit type person at the grocery store like the ads shown on T.V. A person paying in cash or writing a check slows the world down. We live in a world of rush, rush, rush and hurry up and get outta my way.
There is simply not enough time to stop and smell the roses anymore. If everyone would just rush through their daily life rush home and read my blog I would be happy. But there are times when it is required to make a trip to the grocery store. I need caffeine.
So here I be standing in line at the one and only register open in this huge store filled with lots of shoppers. The person two carts in front of me whips out her checkbook only after the entire order is rung up.
Then she states, “Do you have a pen?” You just know that’s a bad sign. The one and only pen in the store has vanished and the manager is called to bring forth a writing implement. Okay, if you are a check writer – why don’t you carry a pen with you? That issue should have been addressed in ‘check writing 101.

So she starts to write, looks up in confusion and says, “What’s the date tomorrow?”
The cashier politely tells her the store does not accept post dated checks. The entity writing the check starts the sorry saga of her life. I don’t need to hear about her boyfriend spending all her hard earned money on ‘whatever’.

My foot stars tapping and I search for another register to open. I try to think good thoughts. I scan the hotties on the tabloids. Who is leaving, who is staying, who is loving and who is going where. I stand there in silence going nowhere.

So obnoxious check writer finishes writing her check dated today although we all know it will bounce. She hands it over to the always pleasant cashier or I believe they are called Associates. Ms. Pleasantry asks for an ID. “Oh my,” says the demon check writer, “I left my ID in the car.”

My foot taps faster as I grip the cart handle. I hope I remembered to wipe the cart handle down. I don’t recall? They put those disinfectant wipes right there by the front door for a reason. Germs are everywhere but I did get my flu shot this year. I should be safe. I am safe from germs but not safe from people that are slowing down world progress. Doesn’t she know we are all in a rush?

“I’ll just run out to my car real quick and get my ID.” Ms. Pleasantry smiles and calls for the manager again. I notice that all the associates wear light green golf shirts and khaki pleated pants. The manager sports a dark green golf shirt. Oh to be one in the upper crust. I look down at my feet clad in Kino sandals. There appears to be creamy white blotches on my brown sandals? Perfectly round drops.

So here I am, standing in line waiting for the return of the devious demon check writer to finish her transaction so the rest of us can get along with life. I watch my ice cream – drip, drip, and drip through the metal cage that has confined it for all this time. I slip out of line to grab a disinfectant wipe by the entrance and hurry back to my cart. My cart has been pushed aside and blocks aisle 6. Some little old lady screams at me for blocking her way. “I’m in a hurry. Get out of my way before I run you over with this here electrified cart.”

I try to squeeze back in line with my cart, my melting ice cream and my dignity. Mr. Tattoo all over the body guy screeches at me, “Hey no budging.”

I reconsider my options. I look at the line. I am at the end. I look for another flashing light to say – I’m Open. I look at my melting ice cream. I look at the size of Mr. Tattoo all over the body guy. I look at the exit sign and I walk away. The automatic doors don’t work. I feel I am being held captive. I almost panic. But then there is Ms. Plump coming in the OUT. Apparently the IN door is too far away to walk. I slip outside - to freedom.

Parked right there, in the FIRE LANE – NO PARKING spot sits a brand new SUV. Climbing into the gas-guzzling, overpriced status symbol of our time is the obnoxious, devious, daunting, demon check writer. OMG. I walk over and kick her tire. I feel good.


Sincerely,

Mr. Pid

Daily Gripe

Hello my name is Stu. Today my gripe is about those that defile the earth and my yard. These self promoters or the self appointed local neighborhood association militants are a few of the culprits. I dislike individuals who tape fliers to my mailbox. Sometimes they stick and then sometimes they don't. They get blown down the culdesac and pile up or blown down the drain or adhere to the side of your vehicle. Add a little rain to the mixture and they solidify into a crustacean mass on your sidewalk.

My thoughts on this issue.
1. keepa yer hands offa my property
2. this is a receptacle for the governemnt
3. this is not your own private bulletin board
4. take an ad out in the paper
5. this is littering
6. clean up your mess after

Then we have the creative abusers. They put their notice in clear plastic baggies add a stone and toss it on your driveway. Sometimes it hits the driveway and sometimes it lands in the grass. If I'm lucky I find it and dispose of it property. Right into my trash. If I'm not so lucky I run over it with the mower. How many blades have I had to sharper because of these people? Once the dog found it and ate it. Who do I send the $300.00 vet bill to?

My advice to these menaces of society. "Just stop it." Or go to a neighborhood other than mine, like a gated community.

Yours Truly,
Mr. Pid