Letters
I have an alienating habit of complaining a lot more than the recommended daily amount, and if everything was at peace I would probably complain about the lack of material to complain about. Here’s a few letters I composed to alleviate these problems:
Dear flies, wasps, and bees that don’t make honey,
I’m reading a book in the sun (funnily enough discussing global warming). I’m rarely involved in either reading or being outside, let alone both. Frankly, I dislike your efforts to eat me (especially my unguarded feet). I have both the capacity and intention to kill you if you continue in your devouring efforts, as my garden has many stones I could utilise as ammunition, I have some form of retaliating reflexes to counter any strategic strikes, and I possess cans of unused deodorant to gas you like the unfortunately still-in-use 1940s German stereotype. This is a warning, not a threat.
Regards,
TomRed
Dear cinemas,
I am well aware that you’re strapped for cash these days, permeated in your unsympathetic and monopolistic snack and ticket prices (I’m not even going to mention 3D). I’m fine with smuggling Morrison’s goods in my boxers, but you’ve crossed the line when you ask me, a malformed 17 year old, to cough up adult price when you won’t let me watch adult films (I won’t even mention the funny look I get when I ask for a beer to supplement the film). I am a man of incentives, and incentives can take over any legal system. I am quite happy substituting your service for what I can obtain with the kind (but misunderstood) hand of the internet.
Regards,
TomRed
Dear Kim Jong-il,
I don’t have a problem with dictators, in fact, there’s little I wouldn’t do to become one myself. However, I cannot stand hypocrites. Your profile says that you gained power in the years succeeding the end of your father’s reign in the 1990s, you’re said to have been consistently elected through corruption, you continue military excursions at the cost of civil public services, and your nation’s economy is in a huge slump in your reign. From this, how dare you have the nerve to hate on George W. Bush. Not so interrigent now…
Regards,
TomRed
Dear Facebook Chat,
When I was younger, so much younger than today, I dreamed of a world that doesn’t rely on Royal Mail and the odd telegram to send a message to a loved one or otherwise. If Facebook Chat is the closest one can get to this childhood dream of mine, shoot me in the skull, ’cause I can’t go on like this. Surely I should not take technology like this for granted, but Jesus, by all means wipe it off the face of the Earth if all it can do is restrict access until five reloads of the webpage, guess if a participant is available, guess if they’re composing a message, and send it when it wants. I thought stuff like this was supposed to obey Moore’s law, not Sod’s law.
Regards,
TomRed
Dear advertisements,
If your existence is needed to fuel the large amount of media I can attain for free, keep existing. However, you appear to have breached a few mental ground rules I wrongly assumed were enforced. I think I’ll take a list that’s increasing in objections as I progress. Number one, you last forever. I’m not sure what is longer, the cumulative total of advertisements surrounding my Futurama episode or the episode itself. Second, you get in the way. I want to play Bubble Spinner on Facebook and watch a QI clip on YouTube, but as TomRed time runs five times faster, I’m heavily reluctant to wait ten seconds to be up to date with Party Poker. Thirdly and finally, you make me fear post-10 o’clock television with my family. Even Christmas Day, you know what I’m talking about. That’s right, fucking sexual health advice and gay sex chat messages up for grabs in the eyes of me and my family. I keep my distance these nights.
Regards,
TomRed
Dear flies, wasps, and bees that don’t make honey,
I’m reading a book in the sun (funnily enough discussing global warming). I’m rarely involved in either reading or being outside, let alone both. Frankly, I dislike your efforts to eat me (especially my unguarded feet). I have both the capacity and intention to kill you if you continue in your devouring efforts, as my garden has many stones I could utilise as ammunition, I have some form of retaliating reflexes to counter any strategic strikes, and I possess cans of unused deodorant to gas you like the unfortunately still-in-use 1940s German stereotype. This is a warning, not a threat.
Regards,
TomRed
Dear cinemas,
I am well aware that you’re strapped for cash these days, permeated in your unsympathetic and monopolistic snack and ticket prices (I’m not even going to mention 3D). I’m fine with smuggling Morrison’s goods in my boxers, but you’ve crossed the line when you ask me, a malformed 17 year old, to cough up adult price when you won’t let me watch adult films (I won’t even mention the funny look I get when I ask for a beer to supplement the film). I am a man of incentives, and incentives can take over any legal system. I am quite happy substituting your service for what I can obtain with the kind (but misunderstood) hand of the internet.
Regards,
TomRed
Dear Kim Jong-il,
I don’t have a problem with dictators, in fact, there’s little I wouldn’t do to become one myself. However, I cannot stand hypocrites. Your profile says that you gained power in the years succeeding the end of your father’s reign in the 1990s, you’re said to have been consistently elected through corruption, you continue military excursions at the cost of civil public services, and your nation’s economy is in a huge slump in your reign. From this, how dare you have the nerve to hate on George W. Bush. Not so interrigent now…
Regards,
TomRed
Dear Facebook Chat,
When I was younger, so much younger than today, I dreamed of a world that doesn’t rely on Royal Mail and the odd telegram to send a message to a loved one or otherwise. If Facebook Chat is the closest one can get to this childhood dream of mine, shoot me in the skull, ’cause I can’t go on like this. Surely I should not take technology like this for granted, but Jesus, by all means wipe it off the face of the Earth if all it can do is restrict access until five reloads of the webpage, guess if a participant is available, guess if they’re composing a message, and send it when it wants. I thought stuff like this was supposed to obey Moore’s law, not Sod’s law.
Regards,
TomRed
Dear advertisements,
If your existence is needed to fuel the large amount of media I can attain for free, keep existing. However, you appear to have breached a few mental ground rules I wrongly assumed were enforced. I think I’ll take a list that’s increasing in objections as I progress. Number one, you last forever. I’m not sure what is longer, the cumulative total of advertisements surrounding my Futurama episode or the episode itself. Second, you get in the way. I want to play Bubble Spinner on Facebook and watch a QI clip on YouTube, but as TomRed time runs five times faster, I’m heavily reluctant to wait ten seconds to be up to date with Party Poker. Thirdly and finally, you make me fear post-10 o’clock television with my family. Even Christmas Day, you know what I’m talking about. That’s right, fucking sexual health advice and gay sex chat messages up for grabs in the eyes of me and my family. I keep my distance these nights.
Regards,
TomRed
