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.

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.

Mike gets the last word in this exchange.

The latest in a well-documented series.

related: Have a nice day

Wesh snapped this a few years back in Red Hook, Brooklyn, while walking from his brother’s rehearsal dinner to the after-party bar.

Says Wesh: “What gets me are the flags. Why flags?”

(How bougie does Park Slope’s version look in comparison?)