Dear Sir,
After your most recent FAILure to wow me with your service, I decided to write a poem about it. If you'd like a more permanent copy, you'll find it in the ladies' restroom, in the second stall. Don't bother trying to wash it off or paint over it. I made sure after penning it with my Sharpie to carve it into the wall with my nail file, for a more lasting impression. I hope as well that it will remain etched in your head so long as your draw breath.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'll never eat at Joe's again
I hope you won't, too
That waiter named Chuck
As handsome as he may be
Has the IQ of a gopher
And he flat out sucks at his job!
My eggs were undercooked
To which Chuck gave a mere "Sorry."
Then microwaved them into rubber
Rather than making my breakfast free
The last time he spilled the coffee
All over new my Gucci bag
And proceeded to insult me
When I called him a blubbering...
So next time I'm going to Denny's
TGI Fridays, Red Robin or Chile's
To that waste of flesh named Chuck
Go suck an egg, you hopeless git!
Truly never again yours,
Rachael
19 June 2012
05 June 2012
Letter to the Editor
Dear BBC News Editor,
I was born of the slacker generation (Gex X), so I admit to being not the loyalest reader. I spend far too much time on watching reruns of the A-Team and Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, downloading (a lot of) Internet porn, having intellectual discussions until 4 AM about topics such as Who would win in a fight between Chuck Norris high on mushrooms and Mother Teresa with brass knuckles?, whether global warming is real or nothing more than CIA propaganda to make us pay more for bottled water and petroleum products like Old Spice and Quaker Instant Oatmeal, and which Smurf is going to be the one to finally bag Smurfette.
But I do check in from time to time, and I always go to BBC first. You guys always get me to up to speed with what's really going on in the world.
A long time ago, you guys gave me the option of receiving email alerts about things I'm interested in. Well, being one who's pretty out of touch, I opted for Breaking News e-mail alerts. Because, you know, I want to know about that kind of stuff. I have bottled water and instant noodles and lots of C batteries ready, but it won't do much good if I don't know we're being attacked (by whoever or whatever). So, yeah, I want to be on the up and up when something really big goes down. Thank you for making that available.
But I gotta say, someone is playing a joke, and it's far from April 1st. Last week I got an email about a breaking story about some schmuck being sacked. Hell, I don't even know who the guy was. Why would I want my breakfast interrupted for that? And just today, "Prince Philip taken to hospital." I've had that happen to people I care about, so I was concerned enough to open the email. I'm good and sensitive like that (I'm a Gen-Xer, remember?).
But it's over a bladder infection?! Damn, I was afraid the poor git was gonna die, or that he'd have brain cancer or something really bad, like another Bobbitt incident. That's breaking news, guys! But forgetting to pee after he gives it to some servant in the pantry at Buckingham Palace? You guys gotta be kidding me!
And like he wants that to be known to the entire world, much less in real time?!
You guys lost a few points today.
Respectfully yours,
Disappointed
I was born of the slacker generation (Gex X), so I admit to being not the loyalest reader. I spend far too much time on watching reruns of the A-Team and Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, downloading (a lot of) Internet porn, having intellectual discussions until 4 AM about topics such as Who would win in a fight between Chuck Norris high on mushrooms and Mother Teresa with brass knuckles?, whether global warming is real or nothing more than CIA propaganda to make us pay more for bottled water and petroleum products like Old Spice and Quaker Instant Oatmeal, and which Smurf is going to be the one to finally bag Smurfette.
But I do check in from time to time, and I always go to BBC first. You guys always get me to up to speed with what's really going on in the world.
A long time ago, you guys gave me the option of receiving email alerts about things I'm interested in. Well, being one who's pretty out of touch, I opted for Breaking News e-mail alerts. Because, you know, I want to know about that kind of stuff. I have bottled water and instant noodles and lots of C batteries ready, but it won't do much good if I don't know we're being attacked (by whoever or whatever). So, yeah, I want to be on the up and up when something really big goes down. Thank you for making that available.
But I gotta say, someone is playing a joke, and it's far from April 1st. Last week I got an email about a breaking story about some schmuck being sacked. Hell, I don't even know who the guy was. Why would I want my breakfast interrupted for that? And just today, "Prince Philip taken to hospital." I've had that happen to people I care about, so I was concerned enough to open the email. I'm good and sensitive like that (I'm a Gen-Xer, remember?).
But it's over a bladder infection?! Damn, I was afraid the poor git was gonna die, or that he'd have brain cancer or something really bad, like another Bobbitt incident. That's breaking news, guys! But forgetting to pee after he gives it to some servant in the pantry at Buckingham Palace? You guys gotta be kidding me!
And like he wants that to be known to the entire world, much less in real time?!
You guys lost a few points today.
Respectfully yours,
Disappointed
01 June 2012
Letter to an annoying tenant: Mr. Earworm
Dear Mr. Earworm,
You might have crept in unknowingly, but I've known about your presence for decades. Yes, I've got your number! Actually, I've enjoyed you as a tenant on many occasions. But something needs to be brought to the table once and for all.
Like my mother used to say when I would become rebellious and irrational: MY HOUSE, MY RULES! Well, sorry to get all authoritarian on you, but enough is enough. It's my body, my ear, my cognition that you're slowly eroding when you become reminiscent of the 80s or go teen pop on me. So no more Lady Gaga. No more Right Said Fred. No more Lionel Richie. No more "Like a Virgin"! No more anything that you don't hear me whistling or singing in the shower.
I know your selection, so I know that you're capable of pleasing. But consider this a warning. Any more of that intolerable noise and I'm going to fish you out with a finely sharpened #2 pencil and feed you to Freddie. He's just a fledgling piranha, but oh boy does he have an appetite!
Yours Truly,
Brently
You might have crept in unknowingly, but I've known about your presence for decades. Yes, I've got your number! Actually, I've enjoyed you as a tenant on many occasions. But something needs to be brought to the table once and for all.
Like my mother used to say when I would become rebellious and irrational: MY HOUSE, MY RULES! Well, sorry to get all authoritarian on you, but enough is enough. It's my body, my ear, my cognition that you're slowly eroding when you become reminiscent of the 80s or go teen pop on me. So no more Lady Gaga. No more Right Said Fred. No more Lionel Richie. No more "Like a Virgin"! No more anything that you don't hear me whistling or singing in the shower.
I know your selection, so I know that you're capable of pleasing. But consider this a warning. Any more of that intolerable noise and I'm going to fish you out with a finely sharpened #2 pencil and feed you to Freddie. He's just a fledgling piranha, but oh boy does he have an appetite!
Yours Truly,
Brently
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