Archive for ‘Angry Letters’

20 March 2012

My Cats Are Not Picasso

Dear An Post,

please stop kicking the ever-loving SHIT out of my packages from zooplus. i understand that 14kg of cat food and 28kg of cat litter IS an unreasonable amount of crap to haul around, but you don’t realize the havoc that you wreak upon my life when you deliver my goods.

also, please stop arriving at a quarter to effing 8 in the morning. while i appreciate the thoughtfulness of your trying to drop by as early as possible to ensure that we don’t waste our day waiting for you, what you don’t realize is that i don’t normally go to sleep until around 3 am most days. given that i am, thankfully, still under the age of 60, i really need a few more than 4 and a half hours of sleep a night.

i’m beginning to think that perhaps you really like my unkempt crazy-cat-lady hair, swollen eyes and shockingly red bathrobe.

this morning, not only did my packages arrive looking like they’d been dropped out of an airplane, the litter bags contained within one of the boxes had split open. what ended up happening is that instead of simply dragging the boxes into the house and shutting the door stumbling upstairs to bed, i ended up attempting to dead-lift a box which had one side torn 3/4 of the way off. i then ended up dragging a 5 foot long trail of cat litter across my entryway, turning the floor into 40 grit sandpaper, which i then had to walk on.

i shuffled into the kitchen and got the dustpan thingy and swept up the largest pile, leaving a small amount between the two boxes to deal with later. i swept off the litter stuck to my cold, bare feet and shuffled upstairs to bed. i tried failingly to go back to sleep until about an hour later when i woke to became aware of some sounds of cat revelry downstairs (cat owners will know what i’m talking about). i again groggily stumbled downstairs in bare feet to find the following Rorschach test left to me by my cats:

Apparently I should have named him Picasso instead.

it was very sweet of you to try to give my cats an outlet for expressing their innermost artistic desires, but perhaps you might have chosen a less abrasive medium to offer them. perhaps it’s time for me to order 15lbs of play-doh.

thanking science for roombas,
the crazy cat lady in #63

28 February 2012

Rejecting My Host, Part II

Dear Stomach,

How could it possibly be that you are still hungry after an entire meal of Korean BBQ. I fed you a veritable meatopia of meats from a veritable meatopia of livestock. I didn’t even try to insult you with the emptiness of calories that is rice. Sure, I threw in a token mushroom, but how could I resist the tiny, yet powerful and mothering Korean lady who was so nice as to cook our entire meal whilst simultaneously catering to all the other patrons of the restaurant? Well, I obviously couldn’t.

This orgy of meat was precisely 1 hour and 37 minutes ago; I know this because it was 12 minutes before 5 o’clock, which was the time they officially started serving dinner. So please tell me, how could you have possibly digested two mountainous platters of cow and pig in such a short time? HOW? I cannot win.

Don’t growl at me, SIR. I do not appreciate your tone.

Failingly yours,
The Mouth

22 February 2012

Waste Bag Indeed

One cup of tea, one thousand years in a landfill

Dear Airlines,

I am writing to you today on the subject of waste management; or creation as it might be more appropriately named in this case. I would like to understand why, in this age of sustainability, conservation, and other eco-buzzwords, you think it’s a good idea to actually INCREASE the amount of waste that is generated during a flight. Is there some sort of sick joke of a competition going on between all the airlines to see how much of a pile of shit you can create? Does the winner get to have the name of their airline spelled out in GARBAGE so large that it can be easily read from an altitude of 30,000 feet?

The only other reason I can think of for creating such a huge amount of trash would be that you are collectively saving up to use all the… uh… proceeds to build more airports or pave runways in less developed parts of the world. This might be acceptable if you’re trying to build runways in places which are sorely lacking in natural plastic reserves and which you will then use to deliver medical supplies.

The weird utensil in question

But honestly, how can you justify giving me not just one cup with my tea in it, but one additional plastic cup, one plastic pouch with a plastic knife/spoon (kfoon? spife?), a napkin, and a sugar packet inside, two of those small plastic milk thingies, AND a small plastic bag labeled “waste bag” inside another little plastic bag? Are you fucking kidding me?! Do you expect me to spend the rest of my flight MacGyvering a solution to interstellar flight with all these items? Why can’t you just ask if I want milk and sugar and just premix it for me before handing it to me? Is your time really that precious? Is that not worth just a minor portion of the €2.50 you are charging me for it?

Please help me understand your ways.

Concerned Flyer in 13E

9 February 2012

Rejecting My Host, Part I

Dear Spine,

It seems that we are at a bit of an impasse. You clearly hate me and I can’t say that I’m all that fond of your behavio(u)r as of late, either. I don’t understand how we came to this stage in our relationship. I’ve bought you gifts. I’ve gotten you countless massages. I’ve had highly trained professionals try to restore your youthful elegance. I’ve had beautiful photos taken of you from many flattering angles… Yet still, you are not happy. At best, you let me have two, maybe three days of peace and you’re back again with your ever-present pain signals indicating your displeasure. I do not think that this is a healthy relationship and I’m not sure that even couple’s therapy could help us now. You’ve forced me into this. I have no other choice. I must silence you with painkillers. Please, try to relax and let it happen. That’s it… just reeelaaaax…

Maybe someday we can reconnect under different circumstances. Until then, I wish I could say the pleasure has been all mine.

Regretfully yours,


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