My own neighborhood of Park Slope, Brooklyn has high concentrations of dogs, babies, crazies and bloggers, which makes for a heady brew of incredibly well-documented passive-aggressiveness. Certain notes (like this long-running series) show up in my inbox over and over again. I’ve gotten various iterations of this note from no fewer than six different people over the past few months, with good reason.

I think the dogged persistence of the note-writer is pretty incredible in its own right, but even better is what the note doesn’t quite explain: these bags weren’t just being stolen — some “juvenile/adult delinquent” was also cutting the bottom of the bags, then putting them back for the next unsuspecting dog-walking victim. Oh, shit!

(Thanks to William, Kathleen, Elaine, Sarah, T-1-11, and JM for submitting!)

related: What is it about dog crap that pushes Brooklynites over the edge?

Anna brings us this charitable little note from the her apartment building in London, Ontario.

“Anytime Stan” — proof that Canadians really are the nicest people on earth?

Meanwhile, in Milwaukee…

And lastly, a vaguely dadaist interpretation, in what very well may be another one of L.A.’s elevator-cum-film sets.

related: cross-country elevator action

Presenting, for your analysis, this anonymous contribution from a hair salon in Bettendorf, Iowa (pop. 32,394). For the scatologically inclined vandal (and for Putz’s owner) the unconscious issues at play appear to be anything but borderline. College psych majors: care to address which stage of psychosexual development is associated with passive-aggressiveness?

related: I can’t stand this shit anymore

UPDATE: Here’s a little more backstory on the situation from our note’s submitter. (Warning: this might confuse more than it illuminates.)

the owner of a salon i work at posted this for the individual that had placed dog poop in the corridor that is shared by other businesses. they left the feces in the hallway shortly after her and her st. bernard, putz, arrived to work. putz goes everywhere with her. for the past eight months he’s grown tremendously, and his massive size at this point has freaked out other store owners. putz sleeps in the back room and he has suburb potty training skills — and his owner always picks up after him.

the landlord approached her [re: the feces in the hallway] and said he was very bothered by the possible health code concern. he later told her not to worry about it, seeing how it was totally impossible for putz to let himself out the back door, take a dump in the corridor, then turn around and open the door to let himself back in.

someone kept tearing down her note, so she added the written message at the bottom.

Mona in Los Angeles brings us this pair of notes from her high-rise Century City office building.  Says Mona, “Apparently my co-worker saw the panties at issue. My question is…who leaves their panties in the bathroom at work?  Who does that?”

My question: Why are we letting Paris and Britney off the hook? If they actually remember to wear them, shouldn’t we encourage keeping them on?

And then there’s this one, which brings up the old mad bomber-era debate about which gender leaves the bathrooms in worse shape.

In all fairness, says Brandi in Austin, “This note was written after our dishes became so caked with fungus that we had to buy new stuff. The smell was also REALLY bad.”

related: May the sanctity of the sink prevail!

Semarr prefaces this submission by saying: “I realize it’s not particularly *passive* aggressive, but in context it became so.” She explains:

There were eight people living in the house. One of them collected shelter cats and kept them in the basement. I found this note when I had come home from work very late at night. By morning, the board was blank and Jon L-W denied it ever existed, and all roommates at the next ‘house meeting’ refused to admit there were any aggressive undertones in house. Jon said he loved the cats. Other earlier voiced-behind-backs complaints were whole-heartedly denied.

Adds Semarr: “I moved out a month later.”

related: My cat-shit crazy neighbor

Sometimes, a little complaining is necessary.

(Submitted by Jeremiah in Little Rock, Arkansas.)

Looks like both the Mad Bomber and Richard G. Sells have West-coast counterparts:

Grossed out? Yeah, me too. Blame Gregory in Los Angeles for documenting this one (!!!)

related: The Mad Bomber, Act 1: “Sorry about the language”

If you missed it, Act 1 is where this saga begins. Here, we see Richard G. Sell’s frustration grow to a fever pitch…

And it continues with Act 3…

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.