Writes Randall, of xkcd fame: “This is a box of rice I found in our apartment’s fridge. I’m guessing it belonged to Tedd.”

That extra “d” sure seems to have given Tedd a bit of unresolved rage, huh?

related: How would you feel if I used up all of your “whatever?”

Writes Carolyn in Brooklyn: “My youngest daughter, Annisa, clearly had a problem with her recalcitrant tooth fairy. This is a series of letters, including an envelope, that I saved from her early years. I have no doubt that her finely tuned negotiating skills were developed as a result.” The best part? Annisa, who just turned 31 on Saturday, is now — no joke — a Director of Human Resources.”

(I really didn’t think this tooth-fairy letter could be topped, but in terms of sheer precociousness — not to mention determination — I think we have a new winner.)

related: Look, Tooth Fairy, here’s the deal.

Our submitter in Tucson, Arizona was a little perplexed by the sign hanging up in newly-assigned cubicle, but didn’t think much of it. When he finally got around to asking his bosses about it, they somewhat cryptically responded that the last person to work in that cubicle “had a problem with change.”

(It’s unclear who made the decision that a change of job was in order for that particular ex-employee.)

Meanwhile, Bethany in Bakersfield, California still isn’t quite sure what to make of this note, which she found on her desk one morning at work. (“Did someone start to write a message and get distracted two words in?” Or am I living my life in such a way that they simply can’t handle it any longer?”)

related: A little bit of psycho-therapy

“When I moved in a year ago, my roommate was an ovo-lacto vegetarian, whereas I was (and still am) an omnivore,” explains our submitter in Brooklyn. “She used to not care about my eating habits, but about four months ago she decided to become a full-blown vegan and has been insufferable since then. Yesterday I went food shopping for myself, and when I came back from work today I found this letter on my bedside table.”

(Yeah, the writing is a little hard to read — just wait for the page to load completely, and then click the images below to enlarge.)

related: Carnivore? Keep being awesome!

I get that you’re trying to make a point here, lady…but…really?

(And if you just had to go go there, you could have least written, “Always put the toilet back down.” Just sayin’.)

related: The bathroom battle of the sexes…a true race to the bottom.

Writes Roxanne in New Jersey: “When my niece, Diana, returned from a yearbook-signing party, she showed me this inscription from a girl who Diana says she hardly even knows. We’re both dying to know what those terrible warnings about her could have been (but of course, grateful that Leah apparently gave her a chance in spite of them.)”

related: 2good 2be 4gotten

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.