(or, A Modest Inquiry into the Nature of Condo Virtue)
🪶 By Glinda, a Known Heretic and Occasional Cartoonist
🕯️ On the Letter and the Cat
Madam,
Your epistle began, I believe, with the delicate mention of your cat’s illness and concluded with the more vigorous diagnosis of my soul.
In that progression, you have achieved what philosophers call moral efficiency – two patients cured with one prescription, provided neither survives the treatment.
⚔️ On Vendetta and Other Misunderstood Arts
You accuse me of harboring a vendetta.
How charmingly dramatic.
Alas, a vendetta requires malice – a desire to harm for pleasure.
I, regrettably, possess only memory and documentation.
Malice, you see, was already taken by the board when they lied, smeared, and harassed.
I am merely the historian of their good works.
🧾 On Facts (A Commodity in Short Supply)
You believe the board informed you they lost the appeal.
How generous of you to imagine such transparency!
I receive the same communiqués through the digital pulpit known as the owner portal, and I assure you, their silence was thunderous.
It was we who told you.
Next time you thank Providence for enlightenment, you might credit your neighbours instead.
And, Madam Sanctimony, clean your unit. Hoarding puts all of us in danger – not my dogs.
💸 On the Assessment of Sins
You declare yourself content with the new special assessment, save for those pesky legal fees.
Permit me to simplify the mystery: the assessment is the legal fees.
You are not paying for maintenance – you are paying for silence, denial, and professional invoices issued in God’s name.
Each cheque a hymn to the Church of Consequence.
You urge me to move on.
My dear Madam, we are not moving on; we are merely settling accounts.
Justice, like your hydro bill, demands payment in full.
🖋️ On the Childishness of Caricature
You find my caricatures “childish.”
How very interesting that ink disturbs you more than abuse.
When authority behaves like a cartoon, accuracy obliges us to draw it as such.
Satire is but the mirror truth holds up to pomposity; those displeased with the reflection might consider adjusting the posture rather than the mirror.
My sketches offend you?
Fascinating.
Yet the cruelty that inspired them left you indifferent.
How selective your conscience must be – a thermostat for indignation, set permanently to mild discomfort.
🩸 On What Actually Happened
While you measured decorum, I was measuring blood loss.
They forced me to appear before a judge the morning after a double biopsy – bleeding, dizzy, and expected to perform civility under oath.
This, you might say, was their own kind of special assessment.
Still, they pressed on, as if mercy were an optional amenity.
⛪ On Faith, Silence, and Other Amenities
A mutual acquaintance tells me you are religious.
How delightful – faith truly does move mountains, though in this case it merely helped bury a few truths.
Faith is judged by deeds, not declarations.
I am a non-believer, yet when that same acquaintance swore at you, I told him it was wrong and that he should apologize.
That, Madam, is the small difference between preaching goodness and practicing it.
I hope, for your sake, that your God can forgive you – because I surely can’t forgive you for watching and enabling this abuse.
🕊️ On Peace and Quiet
You long, you say, for peace and quiet.
Of course you do; silence has served you well.
It muffled the lies, the pain, the misconduct – and only my voice seems to have disturbed the tranquillity of your conscience.
Forgive the intrusion; truth has a tendency to rattle windows.
📜 Conclusion (Wherein the Heretic Bows Politely)
So, Madam Sanctimony, the next time you compose a sermon disguised as correspondence,
ask yourself: who offends Heaven more –
the woman who draws what she endured,
or the woman who watched and called it “peace”?
Amen (ironically),
Glinda
Minister of Satirical Affairs, Church of the Perpetually Gaslit
Disclaimer: This post is satire and opinion. Read full disclaimer.
