After the firestorm caused by the incisive and brilliant political
analysis of McDougal’s Open Letter to America from a Canadian
appearing in the Baltimore Chronicle, which proved among other things
that the FBI killed JFK, blew up the World Trade Center, assassinated
Enron executives and of course the international banking conspiracy
that runs the world (see Kampf, Mein) and that all Americans spend
their time eating cheeseburgers while watching COPS, we had no choice
but to give a public craving more, more Open Letters from that same
fount of brilliance. While they seem to concern more ordinary everyday
affairs, they nevertheless contain that same scintillating wit and
trademark mastery of rhetoric and logic, that made the original Open
Letter to America from a Canadian such a masterpiece of political
oratory in our time.
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK:
Open Letter to My Upstairs Neighbor
Dear Mr.. Sagall,
And so it has come to this.
Our once untroubled relationship has gone by the wayside as you seem
to have descended into a pervasive madness that causes me to question
your sanity and shudder in terror at the horrors your diseased mind is
set to loose upon your downstairs neighbor.
You are a sick man, but you continue to carry on as if nothing is the
matter. Strange noises resound through the thin walls of our building.
Horrid animal noises. Your dubious excuse for this has been to claim
that these satanic wails are meant to be some form of music, yet I
would contend that they are nothing less than the willful and craven
means to intimidate me into rescinding my complaint to the landlord
and the police over the inappropriate noises by you and the succession
of whores who traffic their way into your apartment.
You have become a whoremonger, Mr.. Sagal.
I have long tolerated a seemingly endless succession of your crimes.
The noises your bicycle makes early in the morning. The time your
newfangled toaster oven blew out the electrical circuits leaving me in
the dark to contemplate the newfound depths of your evil as I was
deprived of my weekly broadcast from Mr.. Lyndon LaRouche. The number
of visitors to your apartment who knocked on my door, claiming to have
accidentally mistaken my apartment for yours, though this is clearly
impossible as our two apartments are on different floors and marked by
I have seen your soda bottles piled in the bin like a mountain of
human skulls. I have gazed upon the trash you collect in large
oversized bags the color of darkness, of your black heart, hoping to
conceal their contents from me. But though the material of which they
were made was tough, it was not impenetrable and I know that you have
had an ear infection as recently as this February. Yes I know that and
many other things about you and when the time comes I shall reveal
them to an eagerly waiting world which has not yet come to know you
for monster you are. And still despite all these atrocities I remained
silent (except for my anonymous notes signed ‘A Vigilant Watcher’ and
‘The Shadow’ hoping the madness of your parties and your endless
carousing would come to their close. Yet matters have only grown
You stood by as Mrs.. Zanuck in 3B slaughtered untold amounts of
innocent ants and roaches with a bug spray. A chemical bug spray full
of pesticides. And when her own supply ran out, you gave her more.
Your conscience was not troubled by the terror that she wrought, nor
was your soul stirred by the chemical messages of desperate ants
scurrying for shelter as they were poisoned, exterminated from the
air. Adolf Hitler himself could have been no more ruthless, no more
callous to their helpless plight. No monstrous tyrant in all of
history had more crimes to his record than yours. Not the worst
butcher felt so little pity for his victims as you. And in your
cynical arrogance you say that they are only ants. You say that if
they stopped living in my apartment, there would be no need to kill
And yet this entire campaign was a folly. The ants have returned as
have the resources. Your chemical perversions of nature could not keep
them down. And yet rather than recognize the folly of your actions,
you continue to perpetuate this same hopeless campaign with more
powerful and lethal bug sprays. Blind to your own evil madness, you
seek out more powerful chemical substances from the supermarket like a
madman never satisfied with the carnage he has wrought against the
helpless and the innocent.
How can you look at yourself in the mirror every morning, Mr.. Sagall?
Does this record of your crimes not trouble you in the least?
You were never concerned about the impact of your disgraceful
behavior. No you were too busy swilling all sorts of alcoholic drinks
and listening to vile music that leaks through the walls like toxic
waste polluting my mind and my sprit. No it’s simply time for you to
Go back to your ten billionth party, Mr.. Sagall. Stuff your rotten
decaying corpus with every form of vile snack and beverage. Let the
toxic rhythms of your stereo system destroy your hearing and the last
sad remnants of your brain. You’ve never used it anyway. Since you
refuse to listen, you might as well be deaf and since you refuse to
think, you may as well be brain dead.
When did you stop caring Mr.. Sagall? Was it when you first moved into
the building and you dropped a gum wrapper in the lobby? Was it when
you began radiating secret orders to my cat, Paine, forcing her to do
your dirty bidding to spy on me, thus forcing me to poison her kibbles
with draino? Does your conspiring with the Martian Priests from the
Ancient Cult of Gra not cause you the least bit of worry, even though
by doing so you have betrayed your own race?
Forget it, just throw another party.
You excoriate those courageous souls like myself and 89 year old Mr..
Shelby from 4E, though they are the only individuals in this building
who have the courage to condemn your amoral lifestyle and alien
conspiracies. You hound them as you hounded me when you called me a
‘loon’, a ‘crazed kook’ and a ‘nut-job who needs to be locked up in a
loony bin.’ And yes I remember when you sent your hired goons from the
telephone company to fix my line, even though there was nothing wrong
with it at the time.
Mr.. Sagall, you are a goddamn shame.
What law matters now in your despicable state? What justice? What
When will you wake up?
If there is any spark of human decency left in you, you would dig out
that alien transmitter from your frontal lobe with a pair of common
household pliers and take out an ad in the next to last page of every
paper written in backwards script proclaiming that the international
Martian-Zionist-Commonwealth conspiracy no longer controls your
thoughts. But you are dead, spiritually, emotionally and
As I write these words, I can only imagine what horrors you and your
alien puppet masters are plotting together and what you will commit to
justify my extermination. For you must know that I have stumbled onto
your plot and that you must terminate my existence or risk me exposing
you to the world for the monster that you are? A massive conspiracy
with its roots in every European capitol. The diversion of my mail for
several days? Perhaps a hypodermic needle used to inject dihydrogen
monoxide into my soymilk?
Or perhaps I will slay you first, committing that terrible deed and
taking your life. The last thought on my mind, is keeping the promise
I made to Paine as he lay there, the draino eating out his guts. My
cat shall be avenged!
Mr. McDougal’s neighbor has at yet to respond to this letter in any
way. Should this state of affairs continue, Mr. McDouglas wishes to
state that he will no longer be responsible for his actions.