Tony Soprano's Goodbye Note to His Summer Landlady
"I'm sorry about your Mr. Coffee, which for some reason stopped working after I smashed it into Fat Vito's face."
Thank you again for the use of your upstate house. Like I say every summer, it’s a gorgeous property, far away enough in nature that you don’t have everybody sticking their nose into your business. I also like the baby ducks in your pond, swimming along behind their mother. There’s no, “Daffy got more corn”, “Daisy’s been muscling in on my worms”. They all just manage to get along.
One thing I should tell you: Your Mr. Coffee is not working so hot anymore. In fact, I guess you could say it’s more or less dead. It was working fine until last week, when I was involved in a discussion with some of my associates and it was brought to my attention that this guy, Fat Vito, was playing for the other team, if you get my drift. Catchin’, not pitchin’. Sneaking out to Fire Island to listen to Patti LuPone. This kind of thing might be okay in Greenwich Village, but with my guys, it is not done. This was brought to the attention of Vito, with a smack of Mr. Coffee to his face.
I try to be careful with this country plumbing, but I had a guest arrive in the middle of the night and next thing you know, the bathtub drain is clogged. What happened in the bathroom I can’t say. I was across the river at the time, as the cameras on the Kington-Rhinecliff Bridge can establish. The tub was working fine last time I used it, to the best of my knowledge. I called in the plumber whose name you left on the refrigerator door and though 4 a.m. was after his usual working hours I persuaded him to come over. He did a great job. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to take his name off your list, as right after he finished he retired to Florida.
One little thing: You know me, I hate to complain, but that Nuwave convection hot plate you got this year? I flipped it on during a very important talk with a guy from New York, figuring it would heat up faster than your electric stove, and it never even got warm. I had the guy check it with the palm of his hand and nothing. Even when my friend Paulie double-checked by pressing it gently against the guy’s head. We had to heat water in a teapot before we could continue our talk and it was very embarrassing.
Something else, which you might pass along to the Dutchess County recycling guys: That blue-on-white type on their information sheet is very tough on the eyes. I could not figure out if extra large plastic bags which contain organic waste and soiled clothing goes into the compost bin or regular garbage. Less responsible people would dump it in the Hudson, where I could not help but notice there are more prying eyes than there used to be.
I doubt that you’ll spot anything, because we fixed it, but I feel I have to tell you there was some damage to the garage door and the tracks got bent. What can I say? These old garages are built too narrow for today’s cars, especially when they’re backing out at 80 miles an hour. Believe me, the guy who did this paid for his carelessness and it will not happen again.
You might also see some backhoe tracks behind the house, next to the bamboo spread. Those bamboo trees you put in were not looking good, so I had two of my guys put in some new ones. Call it my gift to the house. I seem to remember you once saying you were thinking of putting in a pool down there. Myself, I would not touch that property, but if you ever find yourself reconsidering, swear you’ll let me know first, so I can hook you up with the right people.
I left $10,000 on the kitchen counter for a new Mr. Coffee.
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Donald Trump’s Goodbye Note to His Summer Landlady
MY GOODNESS!!! WHAT’S THIS? A LABOR DAY BONUS?
Donald, here, thanking you for letting me use your country house this summer to hide out from the fake media and the weaponized judicial system. Like I said to Rudi, “Who would ever expect to find me in a dump like this?”
Haha, just kidding. You’ve got a great little place, though, if you don’t mind a little advice – I’ve built a lot of properties – a master bath without one single gold faucet? Rents may be going crazy in the Hudson Valley, but if you want top dollar, put in a whirlpool bath, pronto. I’d also suggest a helipad in the backyard, instead of those bamboo trees, which aren’t looking so hot anyway. Don’t worry about zoning. Bulldoze first, ask later. It always worked for me.
One thing: Your Mr. Coffee is kaput. It’s a great little machine, we used it day and night. But four criminal cases and three dozen lawyers is a lot of coffee and I guess the little guy, which I happen to know was made in China, just wasn’t up to the job. The coffee started backing up in the filter and one day – I hate to have to tell you this -- I had GROUNDS in my fucking coffee. Me, who would have been sitting in the White House right now if that election hadn’t been stolen away from me. I took that lousy pot and I threw it against the wall. Then I had my man Meadows order three more and I threw them against the wall also.
That’s three 12-cup Mr. Coffees at $19.99 each, which comes to $4,306. Plus another $2 million in legal fees.
Just leave it with Rudi. I prefer cash.
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Darkly brilliant, as usual.
Bamboo. Love the stuff. I thought about planting an affected little grove to one side of the lot. Problem is, it spreads faster than Canadian wild fire can burn it. A friend in the Pacific NW planted some and had to install an underground plexiglass barrier to keep the rhizomes from spreading into the neighbor’s yard. It chokes out everything in its path, unless it’s neighboring bamboo. Bamboo kills. Just ask Tony.