To:
Capone Security Services Inc.
666, Hireamoron Road,
Chicago, IL 37412.

Dear Mr. Capone:

You have a reputation for being totally ruthless, oblivious to cries of mercy, tears, and anguished appeals to friendship or loyalty. In fact, these are the qualities for which I hired you in the first place. Therefore I am not just disappointed but absolutely flabbergasted at the shoddiness with which you handled the Fat Boy Mastriani account.

Mr. Capone, you were paid to ‘take care’ of my ‘little problem’ when Mastriani opened another restaurant one block from my own, draining a good 50% of my profits. I asked you to ‘lean on’ Mastriani and make sure his business suffered an ‘unexpected slump’. What the heck did you have in mind when you visited Mastriani’s last week? A schoolgirl’s pajama party?

Sure, your men took a baseball bat to the jukebox. But as regards ‘leaning on Mastriani’, my dentist does more damage in ten minutes than you did in three hours - and he’s legal.
Not only has Mastriani STILL got the use of his right arm, but also I hear he has at least two fingers left on each hand. Word has it that Mastriani’s right leg was broken. Mr. Capone, whatever happened to multiple fractures? Don't your men know how to swing a baseball bat?
Apparently the mandatory Staff Toe Removal was implemented with a sharp cutthroat razor. Whaat?! This is not my area of expertise, Mr. Capone, but any kid on the block will tell you a pair of rusty, unsharpened bolt cutters takes up to four times longer to get through the cartilage and has grown men squealing like pigs.

The biggest indictment of your sloppy work came when I bought the Chicago Dribbler to read about the incident. It didn’t even get to the front page! When I read the headline, I nearly lost it myself. It said: ‘Gangland Attack on Restaurant; Staff Completely Traumatized’. Traumatized? What is this? Barbara Streisand’s shrink report after a bum gig?
Jeez, Capone, remember the headlines after Smiling Slim Saccari's mob paid a visit to Church Brass Rubbin’ Rostriero’s boys? ‘A Deathly Pall of Horror, Inhumanity and Doom Hangs Over a City Hiding Behind Locked Doors’. Now that’s what I call ‘leaning’ on someone.

Doubtless I'm a fool to expect the ‘Service With A Sadistic Snarl’ that I used to get off Fried Linguini Ferriera or the ‘Twilight Rain of Blighted Horror’ that I received from Stuffed Zucchini Zambini at almost half of your price.

In that case, would it be too much to ask you to go back and do the job properly? I have sent, at no cost to you, forty-five pounds of napalm. Use it. And see that it sticks. If the reports from the press are not ones of slaughter, horror, demoniac bestiality, dumb shock, fear, misery and incomprehensible anguish, then I’m afraid I'll have to withdraw my account.

Yours,
The Reverend B.C. O’Halloran
Honorable Proprietor of ‘Church is For the Child’ Outreach Program
and O’Halloran’s Good News Vegetarian Restaurant

Dear Texas Lottery Commission,

I am writing this formal complaint letter due to the rude and unprofessional treatment I received from Girish Ambar at the 7-11 on the corner of 1st Avenue and State Street.

I went into the store on Saturday after I got my weekly paycheck from Mr. Gordon. You know, Mr. Gordon of Gordon’s Lawnmower Repair? Anyway, I’ve been working for Mr. Gordon for about 7 years now and every Saturday for those 7 years I’ve been going to that same 7-11 and buying me a lottery ticket and a six pack of Old Milwaukee.

My method of picking my six numbers for the lottery is quite simple. First, as the bonus ball, I always pick the number 3 for Dale Earnhardt, may his rest in peace. It sure was a sad day when he passed. I guess God needed himself a racecar driver. Anyway, the next two is my wife’s birthday and my momma’s birthday. The last three numbers are usually different. I pick whoever won last week’s NASCAR race, whoever came in second in last week’s NASCAR race, and the number of points the Dallas Cowboys scored on Sunday (or during the summer, whoever came in third in last week’s NASCAR race).

I bought my tickets and beer like always and went home. Later that night, when the lotto drawing was on the TV, I saw the lady pick the number 24 (Jeff Gordon came in first last week), 17 (my sainted momma was born on July 17), 40 (Sterling Marlin came in 3rd), 21 (my wife’s birthday is March 21), and 14 (the Cowboys lost 14 to 27 to those cheatin’ Redskins. Did you see that game? The refs must have been paid off.) and the bonus ball was 3. Dale must have been smiling down at me from God’s turn #4.

You can imagine my joy at finding out that I had just won $13 million dollars. I immediately got my ticket and double checked. I almost got my pappy’s shotgun and went down to that store when I saw that Mr. Ambar got my numbers wrong. He had 24, 17 and 3 correct, but put down 27 – the Redskins score, 20 – Tony Stewart didn’t even finish the race, 13 that was my first wife’s birthday. My current and soon to be ex wife thinks I did that on purpose, but I swear I didn’t.

So I went back to that store and showed that my lottery ticket, expecting him to fix his obvious errors, but instead he just said “Congratulations” and tried to give me $5.00. I then told him about his errors and demanded he give me the rest of my $13 million and he laughed at me. Can you believe it? He laughed!

He told me that I should bring it up with you, so as you can see, I’ve enclosed the lottery ticket in question, along with the newspaper clippings of the Cowboy game and the finishing order of the RadioShack 500. I was gonna send you my wife’s drivers license, but she’s not speaking to me right now.

So if you would please send me the $13 million dollars you owe me, we can just chalk this up to having the wrong person working at that 7-11.

Thank You,

Billy Wayne Brubaker

Dear Upper Echelon Magazine:

Recently I received an offer to extend my trial subscription; however, I must respectfully decline. Although I received the free gifts offered, specifically the “executive” briefcase and “valuable” pen and pencil set as incentive to sign up, these very items are the impetus behind my decision.

The “executive” briefcase turned out to be a vinyl tote bag. Upon placing the “valuable” pen and pencil set inside and attempting to carry it off, the handles instantly broke. I’m reasonably certain I’ve seen homeless people pushing similar bags around in their carts. I suppose they had to push these things around considering the demise of the handles. I assume the vagrants are the “executives” you are referring to when you tout the fact that this item is “used by all the top professionals.”

As for the pen and pencil set, at first glance I was pleasantly surprised. The brushed chrome finish and velveteen lined box showed at least some effort was made during the manufacturing process. I proudly grabbed the mechanical pencil and placed the point to paper. It immediately ripped the paper and the lead snapped. I dutifully pumped out another point of lead and repeated the process, with identical results. I assumed that the lead had cracked in shipping and methodically opened the pencil to refill it. Upon opening it I discovered that indeed this pencil was not refillable and I now had 31 pencil parts with no directions on re-assembly.

On to the pen.

I wanted to be able to say something nice about your “incentives”. Alas, it was not to be. The ink of course was dried up but having learned my lesson from the pencil I examined the pen carefully to see if it was indeed refillable. Happily I discovered it was and I set about separating the pen to accomplish this. Try as I might the ink refill was wedged firmly inside the pen chassis and after struggling for 20 minutes I had to take a break. I dug through my desk and found a letter opener, which I thought would ultimately work as a pry bar. I began my quest to remove the refill again. I felt the refill give a little and this excited me…I redoubled my effort. All at once the spring, which must have been stuck on some chard of metal not properly ground down within the pen chamber, gave way. At that moment my boss, the Vice President of our company, came into my office. I watched with chagrin as the refill sailed across the room and impaled him in the groin.

Needless to say, upon discharge from my position I was not able to afford the refill for the pen.

In future I hope you will reconsider the incentives offered to promote your magazine and I trust you understand my reasons for declining your proposal of a full subscription to your publication.

Sincerely,
Andrew Takacs

Dear Hormel Company,

My grandson, Jeffrey, recently bought me one of those new-fangled computer gizmos for my 81st birthday. Now I’ve never been one for this technology mumbo jumbo, what with the mega-whatsits and giga-ma-jiggers, but I thought, if Artie Bumpkis and his wife Ethel can use one of those new VCRs, I can learn to use this computer. Artie loves that VCR. He uses it to tape Matlock, and Ethel uses it to tape her stories.

Anyway, I got this new computer, and I’ve been clicking and pointing and all that nonsense just like Jeffrey showed me. I even got my own e-mail address. It was great at first, because I could send electronic letters to my friend Eddie Zipple, who served with me be back in WWII.

Now everything was just fine until I started getting these weird letters. I remember the first one said something about buying some kind of vitamin or something called “Cialis.” I asked Artie if he knew what that was, and he thought I’d asked him if he’d seen Alice. Alice of course was this dame from the old neighborhood. Oh diggity could she foxtrot!

So as I was saying, I got more of these letters every week. Eddie Zipple didn’t know what to do about them, so I asked my grandson, Jeffrey. Oh that boy’s as smart as a whip I tell ya! Last week, he got a B+ on his book report or science project or math test or something. Or maybe it was a B-. Then again it might have been his sister, Julie. You know, she’s got her own dog walking business. You should see her out there walking those dogs! She walks a husky, a schnauzer, a sheepdog, a terrier, a spaniel, a shnauzer…not all at the same time mind you, she’s only eleven years old for Heaven’s sake! Did I mention the schnauzer? I use to have one back when I was a boy. Or was it a beagle? Anyway, his name as Scampy, and we use to do everything together! Play fetch, run around the yard, push a hoop with a stick down a dirt road…

But as I was saying, Jeffrey told me that these letters I was getting were called “Spam,” which as it turns out is made by your company. Well I don’t know what the big idea is sending an old man all of these crazy letters, but I don’t care for it one bit! Last week, I got so much of this so-called “Spiced-Ham” that I missed a letter from my friend Ira Munsche telling me about the all-day Matlock Marathon. Well, it’s a good thing that Artie taped it, or my pot would really be steamed! I’d be as mad as Ethel was when she found out that Artie taped a Matlock Marathon over her stories!

Where was I? Oh, that’s right. Stop sending me Spam!

(Although some Old Smokehouse™ Summer Sausage would be nice.)

Respectfully Yours,
Abraham W. Klompus

To: General Manager
Ambrosia Bar & Grill

Dear Sir or Madam,

I am writing to inform you of the putrid experience we had at your restaurant this Saturday past. I am afraid that the horrors began as soon as we pulled into the parking lot, as there was no space to park our bus. The situation worsened as we walked through your doors, for there in the lobby were tons of patrons simply standing around, apparently loitering.

Furthermore, when we approached the hostess to be seated, she had the nerve to tell us we would have to wait over forty-five minutes until we could even sit at a table. As we waited, the loiterers in the lobby made our group feel very uncomfortable. Esmeralda, a member of our party, did not appreciate the gaggle of unattended children pulling on her beard. And Stumpy Pete is convinced that some of them made off with several of his prosthetics.

When you finally allowed our tiny party of twenty-three the God-given right to sit down, we found the table to be most unaccommodating. Several of our ‘little people’ felt very awkward sitting at a table that was clearly not designed for them. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the Americans with Disabilities Act, but all public businesses are required to be accessible for those who are different from the norm. This includes an ergonomic-appropriate seating apparatus for someone like Sumi the Human Head, whom I’m sorry to say was forced to spend the evening in a bread basket atop the table.

Your menu was equally uninviting. Only about half of our party could actually order from it, as there was not one live entrée offered for Fangor the Night-Beast, no crude oils or raw ores for Grotto the Man-Machine, and no insect dishes for Lilly the Spider Queen (a flagrant snub of haute cuisine in my humble opinion). And even in the instance where you could have accommodated us, the waitress refused to put in a request to the kitchen for a dozen raw eggs for Jamjam the Hindu Snake Man.

We especially did not like it when the waitress reprimanded Gordo Loco, another member of our party, for dipping his porterhouse steak in the fudge at the ice cream bar, as there was no sign prohibiting such action. Nor did we appreciate the refusal on your bartender’s part to comply with the simply request to set Matilda’s head on fire. I mean, what is wrong with your staff? Perhaps you should ponder this if you wish to remain in business.

It saddens me greatly that such gross prejudice still occurs in today’s age. When will we finally reach that distant utopian vision of universal brotherhood and mutual acceptance? As for now, your establishment might as well go one-step further and hang a sign on your front door, declaring clearly and forcefully:

NO CIRCUS FREAKS PERMITTED!

Regretfully,

Pansy the Faceless Pig Boy

To Whom it May Concern,

I was recently displeased when I received in my electronic mail inbox an unsolicited advertisement for your product. However, since I currently find myself in the market for services such as yours, I set aside my irritation and read what you had to say. Unfortunately, I must say that I did so against my better judgment.

I am shocked - SHOCKED! - to report that your advertisement copy is rife with grammatical mistakes, typographical errors and grievous offenses against that most innocent and long-suffering of punctuation marks, the apostrophe.

That this once-great nation is today in such a sorry state is directly attributable to grade-school dropouts such as yourself who wouldn't recognize a comma splice if one beat you over the head with you're own keyboard.

I invite you to re-read the preceding sentence and identify for me, if you can, the deliberate mistake I included in order to demonstrate my point. I am sure you will agree that, if read literally, my attack against your education (or pitiful lack thereof) makes NO SENSE WHATSOEVER! You must interpret the markings on the page and attempt to give them meaning, and if we are both fortunate you will arrive at the same devastating insult I intended.

The rules of written English were devised to limit such capacity for misunderstanding. If we had both abided by them, you would, even now, be reeling from my almost palpable hit against your microscopic literacy level, and I just might be addressing you as the future supplier of the goods and services I currently require.

As it stands, I have grave philosophical, ethical and yea, even spiritual problems with the very contemplation of purchasing from an imbecilic simian such as yourself, a dictionary.

I naturally expect you to kindly remove my contact details from your mailing list forthwith, and further propose that our correspondence end here.

I remain angrily yours, etc.

Dear Sir or Madam (I do use these terms with great reluctance),

It has been the sum of my experience that when dealing with organizations such as yours that no amount of cajoling, no logical reasoning, not even any impassioned plea for consideration will move you to act. I nonetheless take on the monumental tasks of pointing out certain idiocies in your current operations and demanding swift action and immediate public apology for your negligence.

I direct my ire at the so called “humane” nature of your organization. This Humane Society of the United States (HSUS) is mere pretense; a sham. In a desperate hour I turned to my local HSUS office and was denied help for my dear pets. Is it not enough that I am burdened with moving home and family to a new city? No! Apparently I must also be rudely treated by the very people of whom I ask help.

Let me state for the record that giving one’s beloved pets up for adoption is a sorrow beyond compare. My poor dears (Judi, Arthur, Jana, and Fabian) need a new home! They cannot survive the stresses of a move! But the HSUS seems to take the position that goldfish are not worthy of their care and attention. These precious goldfish come from the best of breeders. They are refined and dignified pets of such quality any person would be proud to adopt. Your organization takes in the basest feline and canine examples ever to be seen. Rabbits and guinea pigs whose blood lines are undoubtedly contaminated, litter your cages and display cases.

But my darlings, my purebred goldfish are turned aside. “Fish! The HSUS does not do fish.” I am told. When I explained my wretched circumstances your personnel giggled at me. I was ridiculed and humiliated in front of a crowd of onlookers. During one brief moment I believed help would at last be procured: one of your animal control officers (Sgt. D. Amada) declared she would take care of the situation. With great thanks I began to hand over my darlings to her. Then this officer declared she would “flush them down the toilet,” and laughing heartily continued “they’re better off in the ocean anyways.”

How is it possible that this type of behavior is condoned? How is this level of ignorance (for goodness sake, goldfish are freshwater not saltwater creatures) tolerated? The HSUS must take accountability for the suffering I and my goldfish have endured in our dealings with them. I demand an apology forthwith. The resignation of all HSUS governing board members at this time would not seem out of line. Your organization is failing in its purpose and I will settle for nothing less than its total dismantling.

I have written a letter to my congresswoman and senator in Washington DC. You will, I am sure, hear from them soon on this matter.

Outraged and appalled,
S.J. Marlin

Acme Poisonous Industries
ATTN: Complaint Department

To whom it may concern,

I would like to start by saying that I’ve used your Acme Rat Poison in the past with no problems what so ever. I’ve spent thousands of dollars on your product over the years. However, as of lately your product has failed me horribly. As a matter of fact, it has totally ruined my life. If your company doesn’t come up with a settlement quickly after receiving this letter, I’ll have no choice but to seek legal help in pressing charges for restitution.

On the side of the container that you package the rat poison in there reads a warning stating that the product is fatal if swallowed. This is false advertising. I fed this to my wife for over a month and she never died. The only thing it did to her was make her sick enough to seek medical attention. In doing so, they found traces of the poison and sentenced me to life in prison for attempted murder.

I’ve lost everything due to your companies negligence. I had a fool proof plan in which a jury should have no problem agreeing. Due to your misleading warning label, I now have three cell mates that like to cuddle every night. Every time I bend over in the shower to get the soap I’m reminded in a BIG way of how your product failed me.

I’ll give your company approximately two weeks to come up with a settlement and no more. In the future I suggest that you change the warning labels on the packages so this doesn’t happen again. It’s not a very pleasant experience. I’ll be waiting your reply.

P.S.
There’s a lot of rats where I’m currently living. If at all possible, could you please enclose a few packages of your Acme Rat Poison with your return letter.

Paul Logan
State Penitentiary

Deer Mr Hiring Man,

I came to yer place of bizness the other day and ya’ll didn’t treat me real good. I wanted me a job, but you wouldint let me have one. Im a durn hard worker. I have told good things about your companie to my family and to my frends for meny meny years now. Theres been a couple of times, well probably a bunch of times, that I stole stuff from ya’ll. I am real sorry for that - it wont happen agin. I promise deep in my heart to pay back the money it costed you from my evil stealin ways. If you give me a job it shure will help me to pay off my sins toward yer good companie a bunch faster. Ive since come to know the lord and pray all the time. I am a full cristian now and follower of the lord jesus crist these days. You say yer a cristian companie, but you dont ackt like it. As a cristian myself it makes me awful mad and downrite angry the way you treated me that day I came there to git job. I want to kill you. Im planning on it. Start shakin! I dont like that you looked at my missing leg with ugly eyes. I’m not the only one on this earth that is missing a leg and one eye - sometimes two. If yer a cristian too you should over look my missing parts and no that I am a good man that would do a good job working in your fine companie! You are real bad man. I have a mind to soo you for not hiring me - after I kill you! Im gonna call a lawyer when I git threw riting this letter. I mean it deep in my heart! I cant help that my leg got shot off at a family reunion! I was rite and momma wuz rong!!! (Pleaze dont read local newspapers from June 1st - June 9th of last year az they mite warp yer percepitcation in seeing me for the law abiding citicen that I am. It was all lyes!) As for my missing eye(s) Id really like to not have to splain that mishap(s). I still cry when I think back on that day and sorta laugh in an odd jiggyly way. Momma was once again wrong, and she was even extra more wrong for gitting grandma involved. Anyways I should have got a job at your bizness! I diserve it! Its my American right! I got to end this letter so that i can go call my aturnee lahyer man that nose a bunch of things about the law. Your in BIG trouble mister!! It even says so on the man’s comershal! I would make one heck of soopervisory construkshun man. I got a good eye for detale and got real good peeple skills. This is YER loss!! Sea you in court!!

Love, Delbert R. Smith

Dear Mr. Smith,

I have stayed silent on this issue for far too long and this situation has come to a head. As you may be aware of I am your next door neighbor. As you may NOT be aware of is that your wife has recently been shutting the blinds to your room during the peak changing hours of seven o’clock PM to ten o’clock PM. This is outrageous! How am I supposed to satisfy my disgusting voyeuristic pleasures with the blinds drawn? Just last month I purchased a high powered telescope to assist my peeping needs, equipped with fully functional recording options and the ability to hook up to my big screen TV. This telescope is NOT CHEAP!!! Obviously this telescope is useless with the blinds drawn!

Your wife has completely ruined my weekends with this outlandish sense of privacy! My buddies and I would gather around my window, with nachos, beer, and the occasional video camera and make a night out of watching your daughter and her various boyfriends (and might I add that she is practicing safe sex). Times are tough, Mr. Smith. If you haven’t noticed, gas prices have sky rocketed and the economy is tanking. I just don’t have the money to spend on quality pornography, and why should I with a daughter such as yours living right next door to me!? And you might be saying right now, “Go watch Lifetime and ogle Tiffany Amber Thiessen.” To which I say, I’ve seen all of her movies a hundred times! It’s about variety, Mr. Smith. Variety!

And don’t think I didn’t notice when you cut down the large sycamore tree that was next to her other window. That really sent me over the edge. That tree was a perfect climbing tree and the limbs were remarkably strong. It was a crime against all nature to destroy a marvel of the natural world. You can expect another letter from city hall about that tree, I’m pretty sure some of its roots were on my property. And you can’t fight City Hall, Mr. Smith! You just can’t!

I know that you are well aware of the voluptuous body that your daughter has and I wouldn’t fault you for enjoying it as much as I do. Granted, that sort of thing is looked down upon in the northern states, but who am I to care what a man does in the privacy of his own home? Unless that impedes on another man’s sexual fantasies, in which case it is my civic duty to protest. I hope for both of our sakes that you make the right decision. Mr. Smith, tare down those blinds!

Sincerely,
Anonymous

P.S. I’ll be over later to pick up the toolset I loaned you.