And now, an open letter to Creepy Cheerleader Guy.
Dear Creepy Cheerleader Guy:
How's it going? We've passed by in the street several times since I moved to Arlington's Fort Strong area in aught-one. You live in one of the apartment buildings on my street. Sometimes, you're dressed normally, maybe carrying a newspaper and a coffee, as you were this past Sunday.
Other times, you're wearing a cheerleader outfit and a long-haired wig.
Now, far be it from me to judge. (Ha.) I've encountered public transvestism in cities before, so it doesn't really faze me. I'm sure it gives you great sexual gratification to be able to do this. It's kind of funny, of course; my wife and I reserve the right to point and laugh from our living room when we see you out our window, dressed in all the trappings of a high school cheerleader, including the pleated skirt, always looking somewhat dour.
However, I'm going to have to ask you to not leer at my wife, as you did when we walked by you on the aforementioned Sunday. I believe the sequence of events went like this:
- We smiled and said "hi" as we passed by.
- You stared creepily at my wife the whole time, saying nothing.
And, apparently, this is standard protocol for you when encountering my wife in public. The creepy staring.
I'm not a big fan.
Yeah, you need to stop. The cheerleader thing was cute for a while, and I somewhat admired your bravado. But now, you're basically pleading for me to kick your ass, which kind of sounds like fun. I probably would yell out, "I've got spirit, how about you, BITCH?!" or something like that. And, since I'm bigger and in a lot better shape than you (that cheerleader outfit is NOT flattering), I would recommend you heed my advice. Otherwise, I'll beat you down bad enough that Hillary Swank will be playing you in the movie.