I am done, done, done with waking at two in the morning to a reverberating, thumping racket on our upper deck as you attempt to dislodge bird feeders, planters, and seed bins. My husband may be able to sleep through a bomb blast, but that is not a talent to which I lay claim. I need my sleep! Capisce?
And are you dense? Did you not get the message when the hinges on the feeders were upgraded? No, I think not. It just takes longer to dislodge, thus more thumping, eh. buddy? Simply a minor, enjoyable challenge for you, hmmmm? When are you going to pay up for all of the broken feeders and devoured seed?
I am done, done, done with my railing baskets, once filled with vibrant oranges and yellows, being used as a place of rest from your nighttime gymnastics and more recently, being used as your private toilet. Yuck! I promise you that finding your raccoon s**t, while watering in the early, morning does not make my day. Hey, buddy, would it have killed you to show some sympathy for those poor, now dying, nasturtiums? Really? You'd die too if you were s**t on every night!
I'm done, done, done with picking up icky, smelly, spilled garbage after you overturn the recycling bin. Raccoon resistant green bins. Hilarious concept, eh buddy? If you truly are intelligent, possessing small motor skills beyond compare, would it be too much to ask that you at least use your talents to clean up after feasting on leftovers?
I am done, done, done, so war it is Racco. If I were you, I would wave goodbye now or I'll visit you at two tonight. That's a date! Let's see how you like being disturbed during your nighttime forays. And don't think for a second that you can hide behind that stupid black mask. If I fail, Racco, I may be forced to hire the biggest, meanest guard dog you have ever met.
I am done, done, done! Take my advice, Racco, and say, Bye, bye.