a message to the creepy maintenance man wearing a blue wool sweater in 85 degree weather who has treats in his pants

dear lone english speaking tor view village maintenance man, please stop using your whisper voice to try to lure my dog over to you for treats.

sir, not only does my dog has severe sensitive stomach issues that you cannot possibly be aware of, producing mass amounts of doggie vomit and diarrhea from one single milkbone, but your approach is unsettlingly similar to a child molester hunting for prey.

if you were normal and not in any way scary, i might be nice and bring one of monster's special dietary treats outside and give it to you to give to him. but you'd have to really, really convince me that you're not having sick and unnatural fantasies about my dog, which you are clearly not capable of.

oh sir, i see the gleam in you eye, and the corner of your mouth turn in a sly smile when you see my furry friend walking by. even when we're over a hundred yards away, across the street, you follow him with your eyes, one hand shading them from the sun to get a better view, and slowly start walking in our direction. your false attempts to be disarming 'can i give the doggie a trrreeeeaaaaattt?' send chills up my spine. what's worse is that monster knows you as the 'treat guy' and so gets excited, irregardless of his imminent bowel discomfort. poor little guy has no notion of what you'd really do to him if you could get your hands on him, bribing him with dry, crumbly cookies.

no, my monster is way too innocent to be corrupted by your unbridled desire for doggie rape, and i'd like to keep it that way. so from now on, sir, please keep your treats in your pants for another victim and allow us to enjoy our morning walk without your sinister motives clouding the air.