Seriously ... what is it with the notes we get?
We got another one Sunday night ...
"Unbelieva-Fools! You're time is up! Nothing you due can stop me! No ware you look will you find me! I will bee you're doom!"
Right off, whoever this was, we knew s/he had bad grammar.
"That's probably the source of the anger I read," I thought out loud to Jeff and Clark. "This person is probably so nicked at the fact he or she didn't study in school the only recourse is to take it out on us."
"Makes sense," Jeff responded.
"I say we don't do anything and see where this goes. I mean ... what's this person going to do anyway? Torture us with poorly written notes?" Clark wondered.
Just then an alarm began ringing. Someone in the laundromat entrance to our headquarters. We took a look on our unbelieva-moniters to see a bunch of black-clad hooligans putting stickers on all the washing machines and dryers and soap dispensers.
Jeff noticed first what they were doing: "Hey ... they're changing prices on all the labels on our stuff!"
I scrunched my face at the monitor, watching them plaster new price points on everything. "We better get down there."
All three of us took off to the entrance. Opening the door, we were accosted by sticky-back notices in droves which tangled us up, made us fall to the ground unable to remain standing and rendered us immobile. A dark figure emerged with his face covered in yellow Post-it® notes.
"Your mind now, Unbeliva-foons!" the daunting chiffer cackled.
Jeff called out: "Where's Ulf when we need him? No good, flea-bitten ..."
... stay tuned ...