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Gypsy Lurv Letters

November 4, 2008

My back door is sort of a combination dutch door, french door. The bottom half is one piece, which can be opened, but rarely is. It’s mostly there to make it easy to get out that way if I really, really need to. The top half is two doors, which open out like shutters. On hot days, I can open them up to let air flow through them. For some reason, these doors confuse the hell out of people. They’ll walk up as if I’m an information booth and ask questions, completely ignoring the other person in the booth who has actually paid for my time and attention. One person was actually nice enough to apologize for interrupting me. One, of all the morons who have done this. We’ve decided that I need a beaded curtain back there or something. Not that I think it will actually stop people from doing this, but it might cut down on the occurrences. Plus, if I tie some bells to the thing, it’ll give us a heads up when some idiot decides to stick his arm inside my booth to fiddle with my stuff.

Dear Sir,
My back window is not an arm rest. And while my shutters are super awesome and wonderful, they will not support your happy ass leaning against them. There are benches all over the place which have been proved for the patrons should they need a spot to rest. Get your elbow the fuck out of my booth and go the fuck away.

No Lurv,
The Angry Gypsy

Dear Failed King of the Stump,
GET THE FUCK OFF MY STUMP. It is just big enough for ME. I did not ask you to join me up here, and I sure as hell didn’t need you pawing me on your way up. Meet my boot. Even better, meet my uncle’s boot as he drags you down. We are not playing King of the Stump. There is no King on this stump, only a princess. Are you ain’t no princess.

No Lurv,
The Gypsy Princess

Dear Football Fans,
I know that the game is important, but really? Was it so important that you had to bring a portable television to a pub at the renaissance festival and watch it at top volume? Our atmosphere, you’re ruining it. The table full of leather clad warriors might be too polite to tell you that you’re being morons, but I guarantee they were thinking it Real Hard.

No Lurv,
The Lone Gypsy

Dear Religious Nutjobs,
I’d tell you where you can put those pamphlets you’re handing out, but I’d get in trouble. So how about you just put them away and stop harassing my customers, okay? They paid money to get in that front gate just the same as you did, and they deserve to have a good time without you telling them that they’re going to hell just for hanging out near the fortunes tellers. I don’t know what you wackos were thinking when you decided it would be a good idea to drop $100 to get your group into such a horrible den of iniquity, but I do know that if the cops see you, they’ll make damn sure that you don’t get much value out of that money. Also, you can rant all you want about your freedom of religion and freedom of speech. But you’re on private property now, honey child. And if I’m not allowed to tell you to go to hell, then you’re not allowed to either.

The Pagan Princess

PS- Given that poly-cotton wench costume you’re sporting, I betcha I know more about the “abominations unto” than you do.

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