Tina in Jacksonville, Florida was in the process of moving out of her current apartment — apparently not a moment too soon — when she spotted this note on the door of her downstairs’ neighbor.

I’m not sure which is more disturbing: the content of this note (as best as I can follow it) or the truly sic spelling and punctuation. Altogether, it just kinda freaks me out.

So thanks, Tina, for giving me another reason to avoid what is probably my least-favorite state. (Not that I don’t cherish my time with you in Clearwater, Grandma Cookie!!!)

related: If it’s on Jersey Shore, it’s not coming through the door

Two words: Team Fletcher!

related: Facebook is for frenemies

First off, hat tip to the cranky guerilla artist who plastered the bus stops at Rachel’s college campus yesterday with these posters.

(Of course, like the good citizen and PAN-ista that she is, Rachel promptly snapped and sent this pic to us using her BlackBerry.)

But speaking of art on campus…how’s that for a segue? —  I can’t look at this piece from Matt’s dorm in Reno without hearing it as a Daft Punk song. (That’s probably thanks to far too much time spent playing around with iDaft…time which I do not regret one bit.)

Okay everyone, let’s get this riot started. Go text this post to all your friends!

related: Daft Flush

extra credit:  iDaft: une vidéo funny [dailymotion.com];

Daft Hands [youtube.com]

Hannah spotted this gem above the sink of dirty dishes in her San Francisco office.

related: May the sanctity of the sink prevail!!

When my younger brother Danny was around 6 or 7, I remember he brought home a project he’d done in school — a little book entitled “My Family,” or something like that. I don’t recall what he said about the rest of us, but on the page about our mother, he had written: “MOM BRINGS DINNER,” complete with a stick-figure drawing of her with McDonald’s bags in both hands. We all laughed about it, but I think my mother was still pretty mortified —  and god only knows what his teacher thought.

Well, Mom, allow me to introduce you to Carmen: you two might be able to commiserate. When her son (who is, coincidentally, also named Daniel) was 6, his first grade teacher had the kids write little journal entries about their weekends every Monday. This was Daniel’s. (The teacher’s feedback is my favorite part.)

Carmen is quick to add that she was most definitely not “drunk” — in fact, on this particular occasion, she hadn’t had a single alcoholic beverage. But just try explaining that to the school guidance counselor…

related: Just in case you haven’t gotten your fix of working mom guilt…your kid’s preschool teacher is ready to step up!