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.

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.