I don’t feel sorry for you. There’s a pretty good chance your iPod wouldn’t have been stolen if you hadn’t left it on the front seat of your unlocked car that you parked on the street. You bought a cell phone from a guy on a street corner, and it didn’t work like he said it would. If that wasn’t dumb enough, it was the same guy that sold your friend a cell phone that didn’t work, but you thought you might have better luck. I don’t feel sorry for you either. You woke up to find out the girl you brought home from the bar was a kleptomaniac on parole for identity theft, and now you can’t find your wallet. I have one word for you, bummer. You invited someone to live in your house, and now that it isn’t convenient anymore, you want to make it my problem? You should have to pay extra for police services. Look people, a little prevention goes a long way. If you don’t want to wake up at 3 am with some 250 pound, sweaty, toothless, crack-head, snuggling you like he owns you, try locking your door at night. If you don’t want your freeloading, drunk, pantless cousin spending the next six months in your spare bedroom, try reading the landlord-tenant laws in this state before you let him through the door. Put a little thought into your life. If it wasn’t worth taking six extra seconds to make sure your precious belongings were secure, then what makes you think it’s worth hours, and maybe even days, of my life to try and recover them for you? It isn’t. I don’t feel sorry for you.

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