Dear Neighbor,

          I am writing to you today because of the phone call you made to my employer last week.  According to my supervisor, you are adamant about not receiving anymore of the weekly free coupons wrapped inside a page of recipes and poorly-written articles about consuming, which I've been throwing in the general direction of your half-million dollar house, at the foot of your driveway, behind your fleet of massive urban vehicles and sleek-shiny sports cars, around the time your lawn sprinklers come on (even though it's been raining for the last two weeks).

          My boss said you want me to stop delivering the free "shopper" because:

          [  ]  You never read—always recycle—it, and want to reduce the waste of natural resources.
          [  ]  Are tired of having to walk to the end of your driveway to pick up "trash".
          [  ]  Get tongue-tied trying to pronounce, "deseche el comprador periódico" to your maid or gardener.
          [  ]  Hate hearing the grind-graction of tires/engine at wrong-side-of-the-road-speeds (and/or the thwack-sliizz of plastic wrapped paper on pavement at zero-dark-thirty).
          [  ]  Think what I'm doing is the equivalent of intentionally littering on your property.
          [  ]  All of the above and a bag of condescension.

          Please permit me to rebut thusly:

          I am a 20-year retired Army veteran (Yuup....the patriot card comes off the top of the deck).  Two months ago my fiancee lost her job at almost the same moment as her investment income disappeared; in one month my household wages were reduced by half...she's looking, but hasn't found a new job.  So.  I got a job delivering newspapers and "shoppers".  I have too much pride to be:

          And not just because it is impossible for me to be hypocritical (and pre-bless the charitable with the allure of sky cake) or that I refuserefuserefuse to hang a misspelled sign around my neck asking for charity.  Mostly—it's because I'm physically able to work.  They (advertisers) pay me approximately $1,500 a month to deliver about 450 papers a day as long as I work every day.  Which is enough.  For me.  To pay all my fucking bills.

          At this point I need an all-seriousness-aside bit, because this is getting too.  Way too.

          (1)  The combo-'refuserefuserefuse' makes me think about the first time I read the word 'orangered' and I thought, "Oranger-ed...as in a past tense state of more orange?  Why have I never heard that word before?"

          (2)  When I wrote the word physically in the paragraph above, I wanted to spell it fisically...but that's not right.  Right?  But it's not far off.

         Stop—dear neighbor.  Just stop.  Illuminating your façade with concern-colored spotlights draws attention to your garishly gargantuan footprint.  This is the point where the world that's off the hook on the other side of your television screen/computer monitor intrudes on your real day-to-day.

          Because I need that 8¢.

          Please.  Just take pride in the charity and throw away the evil plastic-wrapped (but still sopping wet) bundle of consumeconsumeconsumecoupons I'm paid to throw at the bottom of your driveway every week (or you could, maybe, learn to ask the help to do it).

Thnx,

—newspaperdudeveach (which, when you say fast, kinda sounds like nudebeach).

PS - If your 'stop delivery' rationale is natural resource based, please take a moment to pause and look at your residence from my vantage point.  Is stopping delivery of the "shopper" at the foot of your driveway the first place to start saving the planet?

PSS - I don't mind thoughtless condescension, I'm only asking that you don't stop the grocery/clothing/drug stores from paying me $3.84 a year to litter once a week on your property.