Since moving to Austin, I’ve learned that local neighborhood newsletters and listservs are some of the best sources for homegrown passive-aggressive fireworks. Though this particular example might seem relatively mild, our anonymous submitter claims the president of her neighborhood association typically does not disappoint in that department.

In the latest newsletter, “She passive-aggressively scolds the neighborhood for not volunteering (‘numerous requests have been sent out’) and then lists all the (supposedly) awesome things we will be missing out on because no one would volunteer. The last paragraph is the written equivalent of giving the middle finger with a polite smile on your face.”

related: Do you hate America?

Our submitter in Tucson had just started a new position in the office of a hospital, and at the time — her budget already stretched thin — she only just one pair of dress shoes to wear with her meager set of work-appropriate clothing. Although she was happy to finally be able to pay her rent, you can imagine how much better she felt about her new job after finding this note dropped on her desk by an unknown coworker. (Because, really, who doesn’t appreciate being called a “thundering cow”?)

Adds our submitter: “Since I had no other way to address the author’s rudeness, I handwrote my response and tacked it up on the outer wall of my cube.”

related: Do these stilettos match my broomstick?

“I was the third child,” says Kathy in Colorado, “so my mom didn’t have time to take nearly as many notes about my development as she did for my brother and sister.”

And speaking of developmental milestones…Kathy’s older sister was just 42 years old when she finally fessed up to adding this note of her own to one of the few non-blank pages of Kathy’s baby book.

related: S is for Sibling Rivalry

Relentless exposure to awful puns hasn’t yet been explicitly singled out as a form of torture, but employees at this office in Australia might be able to make the case that it qualifies as “extreme mental distress.”

Apparently the strategy here was that for every day the kitchen’s cutlery situation went unresolved, up went another note — with progressively groan-worthy puns each time. (It took until “Spatchalator” for someone to cry uncle.)

related: This vending machine doesn’t work…it just sits around collecting unemployment.

First, a bit of global trivia: The Hague may be best known for its war crimes tribunals, but the Netherlands’ third-largest city is also home to one of the best-known masterworks of Dutch art, Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring. And second, something you probably already know: we Americans (at home or abroad) can be pretty obnoxious sometimes. Rachel from Santa Clarita, California can talk to you about all of the above.

While visiting the Vermeers at the Hague’s Mauritshuis Museum, she stumbled upon this entry in the guestbook from a fellow Californian. In fairness, Rachel says, “The writer does have a point; the way that the paintings are displayed makes it difficult to see/appreciate them. But I think trying the curator in the Hague is a tad excessive.”

It is a crime against humanity to place the Girl w/ a Pearl Earring against a dark green background It should be placed over a light gray background to optically recover the tone of the painting. The museographer should be tried and condemned right here in the Hague. Y.J. (an art critic and painter from LA)

related: The art of passive resistance

Jillian and her roommates in Massachusetts recently found this note — which goes from 0 to 60 in half a page — outside their apartment door. At the time it was left, says Jillian: “None of us were home except the dog, who apparently needs to lose weight.”

But hey, neighbor? Even if they had been home, ignoring a knock hardly seems grounds for jumping straight to burning the mail. Apparently it is not a good month for chilling the fuck out.

related: (Don’t Fear) The Creeper

Roslyn in Houston found this note under her roommate’s windshield wiper just over a month after they both moved in. Puzzlingly, she says, “We do not own a rooster, nor have we ever seen or even heard one.”

(In that case, Roslyn, I’d tell your roommate’s boyfriend to pre-watch-out.)

related: Cock fight!

I’m probably more than a little biased when it comes to determining whether or not Alan in Seattle — the writer of the note below and self-appointed Lord of the Laundry Room — is, in fact, an ass.

For one, even though I know the scent of fresh laundry is actually thanks to evil chemical compounds and not “mountain breeze” or “spring rain,” I still kinda love it. Of course, I don’t live in an apartment directly above a laundry room. Instead, I live in an apartment surrounded by chain smokers. And while I hardly enjoy the smell of cigarettes, I’ve managed to deal without threatening to confiscate my neighbors’ Marlboros and replace them with bottles of bubble solution. (I also keep my windows shut.)

What say you, troublemakers? Is Alan wrong? Or is he just an asshole?

related: You’re not wrong, Walter