Jenny insists this note wasn’t just because the dude wouldn’t take her request for “Toxic.” (“The DJ really sucked!”)

I don’t want to oversell this, but the following series of three signs (sent in by a health-club patron who wishes to remain nameless) just became my new all-time favorite. I love so many things about Richard G. Sells’s first masterpiece (below) that I don’t even know where to begin.

The best part, I think, might be the Freudian slip mid-way through (“…without getting any of the crap in the toilet stool itself.”)

But it doesn’t end there! Read acts 2 and 3.

Jimmy in Worcester brings this jaunty little note from the Lambda Chi Alpha House at WPI.

Says Jimmy: “The kid whose cookware was hidden ended up just leaving the utensils (tongs, spatula, etc…) wherever they were hidden and simply bought a new set. This forced the kid who originally hid them to find them again before they started to stink up the place.”

Just in case you needed another reason to pass on the Lambda Chis’ rush-week pancake breakfast…

Such a perfect little hat trick at the end of this note (submitted by Laura in Baltimore) — the four exclamation points, the heart, the “thx.”

Um, yeah. I know.

For the purposes of this project, we’re using a pretty broad (and to some extent, arbitrary) definition of “passive-aggressive” — one that roughly correlates with how the term is popularly used. (Most people don’t go diving for the dsm IV when someone describes his or her roommate as “so passive-aggressive” or “so antisocial” or “so sadistic” or “so schizo,” for that matter.)

Some of the notes here are really more aggressive, and some of them are just plain passive, but they all share a common sense of frustration that’s been channeled into a written note rather than a face-to-face confrontation.

While it may be more accurate, “asshole-ish notes from roommates, neighbors, coworkers and strangers” just doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as easily, you know?

Danny snapped this understated little note at a senior center in Marysville, Missouri. It seems a bit futile, really. I know that no sign would stop my grandmother from putting in her two cents.

I realize this example (from outside the American Legion HQ in Park Slope, Brooklyn) is not so much “passive-aggressive” as it is “crazy,” but it tickles me too much not to post. The little species/feces couplet has been painted over and re-written at least twice, so obviously I’m not the only one who appreciated it.

You can’t tell from these photos, but this little storefront stands as one of the few bastions on Fifth Avenue that the armies of invading gentrifiers couldn’t take down with their industrial-size nozzles of mrs. meyer’s and turn into a precious little bakery selling organic dog cupcakes. While I was taking these photos a man in a lawn chair was either yelling at me to stop or trying to sell me a ratty old suitcase.

This lovely petri dish courtesy of Ben, who explains: “While living in a house in London with 17 people from all over the world, things become way too green. This had to be done every once in a while in order to remind others not to overpopulate our kitchen with new living organisms.”

related: Maybe someone can do this dishes?