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I didn’t want it to come to this but, here’s your sign:
Dear door-to-door frozen steak and chicken guys and the dude who tried to sell me a bogus subscription to the Denver Post,
Get off my lawn.
More specifically, don’t knock on my front door unless you are on fire or have a novelty check for $1 million.
Signed,
‘I also don’t wanna help your kid sell candy.’