“One of our local parks has a busy tea shop that’s popular with walkers, cyclists, families and people exercising their dogs,” says Clive in Brighton. “I don’t blame them for getting fed up with demanding dog owners, and I suppose a note is one way to communicate, but in rhyme? And, worse, rhyme this bad?”

related: A polite notice to the owner of this marvelous vehicle

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

Be afraid, roomies. Be very afraid.

related: I don’t complain.

Our submitter and her brother — both adults — recently received this e-mail from their mother, who’s currently traveling (thus making telephone calls difficult). What ever did empty nesters do before e-mail?

(Actually, it’s pretty easy to imagine this in telegram form — just take out the word “email” and sub in <STOP> for all those question marks.)

related: Thanks, Mom, for reminding me why I moved out in the first place.

If I had to choose the one thing I hate most about Facebook, I think it would have to be how it’s normalized the narcissistic idea that the day you were born (and increasingly the entire week/month leading up to it) is somehow an annual event of earth-shattering importance…and (part two), how it has turned into a venue for people who share that idea to host their own pity parties, like so:

Of course, some of those people prefer the prematurely pissy approach — this message, for example, was apparently posted at 10:50 the day before her birthday:

But on Facebook, the “proactively setting the bar low” approach (as opposed to proactively setting the bar high) might yield better results…that is, if your friends still pity you enough to put with your juvenile bullshit.

related: “I received 25 bday wishes out of 473 Facebook friends.”

“If you want respect,” barked the Daddy tree, “you gotta earn it. Show ‘some freakin’ acorns!”

“But Daaaaaaad,” whined the trembling young sapling. “I just…I just want to be beautiful!”

“What is this, a goddamn Shel Silverstein book? Quit your birching already.”

(As witnessed by Kevin in Arcata, California, and (below) by Taber in Richmond, Virginia.)

But as Michael in Seattle observed, at least one of those sad little trees wasn’t about to let his bully of a father have the last word.

related: The right to bear fruit

When I was a kid, my mother liked to say that I had a “flair for the dramatic.” Just ask her about the My Little Pony sewing machine she promised — I mean crossed her heart and hoped to die promised — that I could have when I turned six. (I’m still waiting.)

If only my parents had sent my temper-tantrum-throwing little bratty self to time-out armed with pencil and paper! Then we might have precious mementos like this one, written by the youngest daughter of our anonymous submitter from Pennsylvania. After being sent to her room for bad behavior, darling daughter — “a chronic notewriter” — slipped this under the door for her parents to discover.

(The crossed-out “Love” is what kills me.) And of course, it’s not just little girls who resort to such melodrama.

As Sara in Phoenix explains, ”My husband and I were outside one evening, deaf to the ‘screams’ of my 9-year-old son, Eliot. Apparently, he was in his room and bumped his fish tank, causing a small amount of water to slosh out, and he panicked. When we came back inside, we found the above note shoved under our bedroom door. Upon examination of said fish tank, we could find zero evidence of leak-springing…but then, we were also laughing pretty hard at the indignant note — especially its closing and postscript.”

Adds Sara: “P.S. Bob is fine.”

related: The joys of motherhood

…especially when the invitation is extended via your Facebook wall to everyone you know.

Or (oopsies!) almost everyone you know.

related: Your Facebook friends…just not that into you.

extra credit: STFU, Parents

Gail in Pennsylvania says the Ann Taylor Loft store at her local mall has a small table stocked with paper and crayons — “an offering to the busy mother who has been forced to bring her pesky little children along for a shopping trip.”

When she took a closer look at the table’s scribblings, however, she had to chuckle at the sitcom-like image of a grown man stuffed into one those kiddie-sized chairs. Adds Gail: “I wonder if Greg’s wife ever saw her wonderful husband’s little PA note to the world? Well, here’s her chance!”

related: Happy reinforcing gender stereotypes day!