Letter of Complaint

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.

Dear inconsiderate mule of Baskin Robbins.

The ignorance and utter contempt you hold for your customers astounds me. I stood in one of your establishments for over three hours one day. The build up of stress and frustration rose in me for every minute I was in there! My children were screaming and my wife begged me to leave. BEGGED ME. Do you know why?

The indecision YOU purposely cause with the horrible amount of sheer choices you put forth to your customers. How can anybody expect to choose a treat with so many options!?! I just came in, one Sunday afternoon, for a simple treat! SIMPLE!!! Yet your employee mocks me and my family by giving us choices of ice-cream flavors that no one in their right mind would choose! All you need is three simple flavors. Only three I tell you! You just make me want too.. I don’t know!!! PAIN. YOU’LL FEEL PAIN!

I am putting a petition out now against your mockery of ice-cream! When I was a boy I worked in an ice-cream parlor. Days when all you needed was chocolate, vanilla and strawberry. Now you have things like tutti fruiti and tiger’s tail. WHAT ARE THOSE!?!

This is not only a waste of dairy products, but an affront to ice-cream parlors everywhere. Its pig-headed overbearing contemptuous brutes like you that make the market what it is today. My petition is to show those around me of the anguish you create. Over a thousand flavors is far too much for the poor human mind to handle!

And another thing! What in God’s good name are Sorbets, Sherbets and Ices! You attempt to awe the human mind with sheer number of other products now!?! When will it all end! WHEN!?! You’ve ruined my weekend and my life! My kids won’t go out on Sundays with me anymore, my wife has called me obsessed and I cannot walk down the street where your establishment is. As soon as I approach your store I find myself flying into a pure rage! SO MUCH RAGE!!!

Now I’m angry… HORRIBLY ANGRY! I found out you are a chain of stores! You spread this curse to almost five thousands places! Each store could affect hundreds of innocent people. If you don’t end your reign of terror and confusion, I will end it FOR YOU! This is your last warning! You ignored the other twenty letters I sent you. ITS TIME TO LISTEN!

Your Daily customer

Irv Robbins

To Whom It May Concern:

I recently ate in your restaurant, and I must say the experience was absolutely horrid! I am a professional with a very high income, and I expect the best from all of my subordinates. I have very high standards, and expect them to be met—whether at home, work, or a business I grace with my presence. I have never seen less attention to detail in any other establishment I have entered. When I pay for repast, I expect it to be of top quality and satisfy my distinguished palette. Frankly, the cooks at your place of business do not know how to prepare a good dish.
To get to the basis of my complaint, I recently ordered a plate of salmon. When my order was served, I was inclined to notice that the salmon was pink. I had the plate returned, and yet again they brought it back pink—absolutely absurd! The fact that your cooks will actually serve a dish of pink salmon is very appalling. There are many health issues at stake, and I pride myself on my attention to what I consume. To be quite frank, you are very lucky I happened to notice this detail and not consume the swill. I almost left without eating, but I decided to return the dish one more time. On the third try, your cooks finally got it right.
I find it very disturbing to think I might not have noticed the problem, and actually consumed the unhygienic dish that was served by your kitchen. I would very much appreciate a refund for the shoddy meal I purchased at your establishment. I must say that you are very fortunate that I noticed the problem; otherwise, I would contact the state Health Department to notify about the restaurant’s unacceptable practices. I will be very pleased to hear that you have taken action to prevent this type of problem occurring in the future.

Please respond to:
Norman P. Quinkle
420 E. Absurd Lane
Canibe Stupid, TX 97153

Frodith Xenophobia Hermansson
32 Oak Tree Basin
FG 2147 Frogville

15th March 2005

Mrs. Agatha Toadsten
Frogster Magazine
495 Green Alley
TD 3544 Batrachian

Dear Madam,

I am writing to you in reaction to the article in the latest issue of the Frogster Magazine, March 5th, about a possible cease-fire in the war between frogs and mice. Since I find such possibility extremely frightening, I felt obliged to share my arguments against such folly with other readers of your magazine.

In your article you present mice as rather attractive creatures that in fact do not represent any threat to the frog population. You also claim that mice and frogs could actually live peacefully alongside each other, because they have different interests, different feeding habits and different lifestyle as such, which, in your opinion, should prove that there is no reason for further fighting.

On the contrary, our lifestyles are so different that living alongside each other would lead to total ignorance. Furthermore, mice possess qualities that make them unable to live together with frogs. They have that ugly soft fur that makes them lose their dignity whenever it gets in contact with water. They also love warm and dry environment, while frogs are best off in water. But – to make matters even worse – they can mean direct danger to the frog community. Everyone knows that mice are omnivores. If they shared the same environment with us, who can guarantee they would not take our place in the food chain (and I mean in both ways, as they can learn to eat our food as well as storks can get to like the taste of them, thus depriving us from our natural population control)? I should not forget to mention that mice possess sharp teeth, which have proved to be a great threat and will never cease to be a threat – mice know they have a special weapon that we do not! And, last but not least, mice are carriers of dangerous diseases. Would it not be discrediting for us if other animal species found out we make friends with such evil characters? Speaking of discrediting our good name, I could also point out that mice are extremely ignorant and illiterate. They cannot read, have no magazine of their own and – worst of all – have you ever noticed what they do to paper?

I hope I managed to convince you (and possibly my fellow readers) that continuing the war with mice is the only useful thing we can do at the moment, the only way we can preserve our reputation and stay a highly advanced society with no barbaric influence.

Yours faithfully,

Frodith X. Hermansson

Dear NASA

I am really not sure whom I am addressing to, but since it is becoming a very annoying situation, and the only responsible is NASA and its employees, I decided to make it general.

I understand that you needed to satisfy your curiosity towards the outer space, and thus you needed to go to the moon, but since then the weather has been horribly random and not accurate to the current seasons.
Since you, NASA, put people on the moon, and elsewhere out of the Earth, rain is coming on summer; it is quite warm in October and I think I speak not only for myself when I say that it has become a burden to know what to wear and when.
I have tons of t-shirts that I cannot wear throughout all summer, as well as shorts, fishnet stockings and flip-flops. And why? Because you went to the moon and suddenly it is raining all over!
We cannot even count on global warming to help, at least here in Great Britan, because it simply is not HOT in months, dare I say, years.
I cannot go to the beach without feeling an urge to get myself inside an industrial oven; when I go abroad I almost die of low blood pressure because of the heat. And I go abroad ON CHRISTMAS!

You might be asking yourselves, “What can we do?”
Well, I will tell you what not to do; actually, I will demand you to not do something:
Don’t you ever, EVER again send anybody or anything to the moon, not even a little ship. Because if you do, (and yes this is a threat, what are you going to do about it?) I will personally go to wherever you are located and break all your facilities with an ice picker (yes because I have many, in order to be able to get out the trash!), then handcuff you to each other, go to Houston and handcuff the operators and you will never be able to touch the controllers again. Therefore, no ship will ever leave the Earth and make it so rainy that it is unbearable to walk the dog.

Please remember that I will only take these measures if you refuse to accept my sensible demand.

My sincere regards,
Mrs. Hellfire
(With a name like this, do you think I will put up to cold rain for the rest of my life? Didn’t think so.)

Dear Ben & Jerry,

I began eating your chunky monkey ice cream about three months ago. Suffice it to say that I’m hooked. I have indeed become a chunky monkey. I have gained thirteen pounds and vaulted up two dress sizes. I’m not happy about this and neither is my boyfriend. He keeps telling me that I have to give up the chunk but I can’t. I’m really upset with you guys. You look so nice and friendly on the ice cream label. Why do you want to ruin my life? Don’t you care what you’re doing to those of us who have no will power?
I think that you should be forced by law to have a warning label on your products just like the tobacco and pharmaceutical companies. I have even written one. Feel free to use it.
Warning: This product is extremely habit forming and will make you fat if you overindulge. Your boyfriend will start making eyes at your skinny friends and you can forget about ever wearing a bikini again. There are many health problems related to obesity and if you become hooked on this product you will have all of them.

There. I think that says it all.

Velma Plumnik
A chunky monkey junkie

Attn. Adam Wales, CEO
Krunk Fitness, Inc.
165 Swervy Ln
Holton, OH 22843

Mr. Wales,

For the past month I have been using your fitness equipment in my home gym. I picked up the Deelux Weight Rack at one of your retailers after being told that I could use it for a trial period of 30 days. I am writing now to inform you that I will be returning the product, without remorse, for one simple reason: It ain’t heavy enough.

As I believe in customer feedback, let me explain further. First of all, I was able to lift the entire set into my Toyota Tacoma, which happens to have a 23 inch lift and 30 inch tires. This was a bad first impression, but I assure you that I kept an open mind. I thought possibly there might be tension adjustments of some sort.

When I got home, I asked my son Maxx to take it up to our gym, and he struggled only slightly due to his recent neck injury from football. We set it up next to the “Raise the Roof” bench press set and promptly began our workout. After our quick routine of stretches and protein shakes, we jogged 4 miles each, carrying each other and switching off every mile. This completed our warmup and we were ready to test out your product. We added what seemed to be an appropriate first weight set. If I remember correctly, it was supposed to be around 330 pounds. I let my son squat first. He got under the bar and pushed up. He looked surprised and said, “Dad, this isn’t heavy in the least bit.”

I shrugged and watched as he did an easy ten repetitions, then lifted the bar over his head. He held it loosely with one hand and looked at me very quizically. I shrugged again and motioned to let me try. I dropped as low as possible, then exploded up. I roared, “GET BETTER,” as I usually do, but the bar kept traveling into the air and through the roof. I looked up through the oblong hole up into the blue sky, and watched the bar come back down. It jammed in the roof until we could pry the rafters wide enough to release it. I looked at my son, shrugged, and motioned to set up bench press.

I put all the weight provided on the bar, plus a few 45-pounders that I had lying around. I did one repetition and shook my head in disgust. Your Deelux Weight Rack does not meet the standards of a true lifter.

Thank you,
Greg “The Body” Bonard

Dear Michael Eisner,

I am writing a letter of complaint to your company due to its continuing insistence on firing nuclear missiles at my back lawn. I am fully aware that my back lawn does resemble Universal Studios, and I know of the continuing struggle between your company and Universal for American theme park supremacy. I am still annoyed however, as my house price has dropped. This may be due to the 500% increase in background radiation in the vicinity of my house, or the fact that the spiders that used to live in my front yard are now the size of an SUV.
Can I please enquire as to what your company is planning to do, as obviously I cannot sell my house and I wish to move from the area, preferably somewhere where the back yard doesn’t resemble a theme park, for reasons other than the one cited.

Oh by the way. I am fully aware that these are your products, even if your customer complaints department denies any knowledge of your ICBM program. I am a regular user of all Disney merchandise, having three young children, so I can tell the Mickey Mouse logo from a mile away. If any more nuclear weapons are fired at my back lawn, I will have no option but to call the UN, and have them declare sanctions against your company.

Yours sincerely

Michael Jackson

Ronald McDonald,

I am so pissed at you right now. You can’t imagine how angry I am. You act happy; always smiling. But you don’t fool me. Not at all! Not one bit! I know about your shady plans to continue this obesity epidemic. That’s not a smile you’re wearing; that’s a smirk.
All you care about is keeping people big and blubbery. You obviously found a cure for death because you’ve been alive longer than anyone I know. Why don’t you share some of that instead of feeding us sugar and grease? You’re a selfish jerk and I wish I didn’t know you.
I shouldn’t have taken a bite of that first cheeseburger when I was 3-years-old. I’ve been addicted ever since. I used to bite my nails, but I gave that up. Then I started smoking, but I give that up as well. However, you and your food will not get out of my life. I wanted to look hot for prom, but all I could focus on were my rolls of McDonalds induced fat and craving for some frickin’ fries. I wanted to look cute and sexy for my wedding, but the blubber was bouncing around all over the place.
Ronald, you are ruining my life. Why wont you go away. Why don’t you disappear like the Taco Bell dog and Marlboro man! I made my parents disappear when I moved across the country but you’re everywhere. I got rid of my ex-boyfriend by not returning his calls, but your billboards and big yellow “M”’s constantly remind me that you and your fatty food are always gonna be here for me. That sucks! I wish you would just leave. Leave me alone.
It’s bad enough you’re making me fat. Even worse, you’re stealing my money. Did you know that I worked 50 hours a week during college so that I could afford to live; so I could afford things like a hamburger. You’re the reason my grades were so horrible. You’re the reason I missed class every other day. I worked 50 hours a week during school just for you. I demand a thank you from you. I deserve it!
Did I mention that you are a waste of time? Yes, that’s right. I sit in your drive thru for forever. I always get the wrong food and have to wait forever to get my order corrected. All I’m asking is that my greasy food be given to me when I order it. I don’t know where you find those morons to work for you.
I am so incredibly upset right now, I can’t read what I’m typing. It’s getting tuff to type with one hand (my other hand is yanking my hair out). It hurts, but not as much as the things you do to me. Mr. McDonald, I hate you. Send me free coupons right now or I’ll never eat at McDonalds ever, ever again! I’ll go to BURGER KING!

-Your Eternally Dissatisfied Customer-
Christina

Dear YHWH, Lord of Creation, Judge of the Universe,

This letter is in regards to the lack of salted snacks available here in the afterlife. How can you call this eternal reward when all we have to choose from is peanuts, almonds, and chex mix? Hell, I don’t even like chex mix, I prefer Gardetto’s. I mean, the unicorn fun slide is great, and the rainbow of sexual pleasures can eat up a decade or two, but it’s nice to just sit back and enjoy some triscuit’s every once in a while. How do expect me to fully enjoy eternity with only three choices of snacks? I mean, come on. Back in my youth when I was still alive and living in sin, I could enjoy a night out smoken crack, picken up hookers, and finish off the evening with a tube of Pringles. Not here. I haven’t even seen a potato chip in 12,000 years; I can barely remember what they taste like. You’d think an omniscient and omnipotent being could tell when those in paradise aren’t achieving their maximal pleasure, but it seems you dropped the ball on this one. You created the universe, for Christ’s sake, but you can’t whip up a bowl of pretzels? Spend a little less time out on the links with Buddha and Allah, and pay attention to some micro-management, or you might have some pretty tart heavenly hosts in a millennium or two.

With Utmost Respect to He That Cannot Be Named,
Host #12937987275973658293276758293472342834923747238423948237557394857398-8080952137448570958209342038750945094502-B

Dear Hills Area Community Theater board,

Thank you for the “Hilly Awards” last Saturday. We had a pleasant evening dressing up and cheering on friends. I think Larry and Natalya did an amazing job writing it. But with the near-sweep by Oklahoma! and the fact nearly none of the nominees from that much-lauded show actually came to the Hillys, the ceremony became a manipulative, cynical joke.

Every one of the losing productions received praise from their audience members. Yet an average bystander on Saturday might have concluded that non-musical theater is at best marginal. Watching the cruel farce of the Hilly Awards, one thinks the people have spoken: but for Oklahoma!, they consider the effort of putting on plays totally worthless.

Saturday utterly obliterated the other casts. People really liked Mitch and Joi from Inspector. Recall the quality work by Don--nominated twice!! Graceland audiences raved about Andi’s rookie turn. (A true HACT rookie, unlike the winner, who'd been nominated for the Rookie Award…in 2001!) I'll hardly mention Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf. It’s clear that showing an excerpt from our production early in the awards was about as popular as setting fire to the theater. A sense people were thinking “get back to the musical” was palpable.

Thank goodness for Bob and Sandi. If they hadn’t been so gracious, I would have walked out. They must wish more cast members had shown to applaud their hollow triumphs.

We must separate musical from non-musical categories! More categories don’t dilute the Hillys, they provide legitimacy and raise the chance that someone who wins would actually be there. It might add 20 minutes to the overall run time. Did you really enjoy the abbreviation provided by the lack of any real thank-you speeches?

This turned doubly mind-boggling with the bizarre fact that Oklahoma! had multiple nominees for practically every category. Maybe an exception can be made for two great performers from one production. But really, Linda Smith? What was their esteemed "Best Directing" nominee thinking filling out her ballot?!

We sat there and watched participants go through the motions because nobody who won was in attendance. I watched hard workers sit there and get ignored, not celebrated. Now I know how they felt at a medieval mass circa 1516. What does it say when Donna’s marginal (but-sweep-preventing!) Best Actress victory was the sweetest highlight for all in attendance?

Audiences want to see balanced theatrical genres. We shall not succumb to the notion that non-musicals are “risky.” This idea’s power grows daily in the mind of John Q. Art Patron. We cannot shove to the margins the talented people who didn’t audition for a musical!

Unless we act now, HACT’s theater scene will wither until it’s like other small towns'. We’ll have barely enough self-respect for a production of The Music Man or some other wretched treacle any off-key batch of high schoolers and miscreants can stagger their way through. Do you want to end up like that…or worse?

Sincerely,

Concerned Director

Dear whoever this letter angers the most,

I am a 35 year old man and my weight is 750 and I live right next to a Mcdonalds and a Taco Bell. Now all of your employees at “Pennys” may have seeds that grow little money trees but for us common folk, we cannot afford to indulge ourselves like we may want to. Alas, I attempted to do just that by eating at these places for breakfeast, brunch, lunch, afternoon tea, supper, dinner, night tea, and midnight snack. As you can imagine this ran my budget rather tight, and that is why I am complaining to you lot of pure evil in human bodies, otherwise known as the entire corpration of “Penny’s”. I was alarmingly hungry one day at my nightly tea and decided to nibble on a Big Mac. Well I came a few pennys short of the required amount of money needed to buy a big heaping pile of heaven. The only other money I had was a 100 dollar bill. (which I was planning on using for my life insurance but luckly I got my priorities in order.) That’s when I caught sight of your store. Pennys, the answer to my problem. Obvisouly you exchanged large sums of money for bite sized pieces of money. Your store proved me wrong by thinking the only store worth going to was a quickly-served café. So I took the effort to waddle all the way over to your store only to find a horror of epic proportions. I looked around an what did I see, money exchangers? HA! I will tell you what I saw and the only displeausure I will get out of telling you is that I was not able to see the shamefull look on your faces. I looked to my left and saw clothes 70% off and still over my budget, and to my right, unrealisticly small watches that not even Gary Coleman couldn’t even fit his wrist through the loop. I trudged over to the Customer Service, hopefully they could exchange money for me. To my shock and disgust, I saw at the Customer Service desk not a helpful smilling older woman, I saw a purple haired, greasy, sticky, slimy teenager. She (or maybe it was a he I couldn’t tell) was chewing some nicorette and didn’t look over 17. I asked this rebiellous almost-mature teenager if he had change in pennys for a 100 dollar bill. He looked at me with those idiotic eyes and with the most aggravating tone said to me, “Ya its upstairs, but sorry the elevator limit is 900.” I was hurt, disgusted, and their was this weird itchiness on my leg, and I angerily stopped out of Pennys in disgust. I later checked the website to see that there was no money changer upstairs, now why in the world is a store called Pennys have nothing to do with pennys. So I declare that you must change your name.

With love,

Bob