Unless you've been in some sort of blogging exile, you've probably heard of Pickleope. And if you haven't, I shall remedy that for you today. You can thank me in the form of gift cards and/or dirty jokes.
I basically begged them to do a guest post for me. In my line of work I grovel daily so it's nothing new to me but I think Pickleope was more than slightly embarrassed for me, which worked in my favor since they agreed to do it.
If you're not already, do yourself a favor and follow this blog. I'm constantly impressed, stunned, appalled, disgusted, horrified and more often than not, jealous of what is continuously spewed forth from this pickled mind. And if nothing else, you'll learn a new word or two. Anthrophobic. Go ahead, use it in a sentence. It's fun! Maybe I need a hobby. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this twisted little pickle as much as I do.
Hi, remember me? I’m Pickleope. The weird-o who drew that weird picture of the proprietress of this blog as a pickle fighting an oven (because that makes sense to tell people).
First I want to thank Dawn, the Vapid Vixen, the Ginja Ninja, the Dread Red, Scarlet Harlot, or whatever other wrestler/pirate names she has come up with for herself, for allowing me the opportunity to infect her blog with my brain scabies (a little cream, that's all it takes to get rid of it).
Readers of the antics splayed out on this blog recently saw that she got into a war-of-the-words with a business she frequented. Well, I felt her pain and tried to help. And I would like to help the rest of you who were similarly done wrong by a company or service by offering my services as a professional angry letter writer to all in need. I'll call my business “Let Me Be Angry For You Letters" or maybe, "I got 99 Problems and This Bitch IS One.” If you’re angry enough at someone to write a letter, hire me, and I’ll write it for you. Here are some common samples.
(This version is written in Viking but we also offer Olde English, Teen Girl, Submissive Furry, and Schizophrenic Co-Op Proprietor)
Hark Mine Slumlord (you can use your own name here),
I hath moved in a fortnight past and informed thee of the low water pressure and lack of hot water (you can insert your own issue here). Though you haven’t the grit to conquer said issue, I shall dominate your pipes for you! Equipped with but a rudimentary knowledge of plumbing, a wrench I borrowed from the receptionist at work that has a flower-pattern handle, and a gullet filled with Odin’s nectar, beer, I shall venture into the bowels of our building and fix the heater and pressure for all the valiant cold-shower-taking denizens of this building! Fear not, I require no assistance from you, frail land lover. This is only a courtesy so that when I do eventually salvage this slum and return it to glory not seen since the ground was broken in 1957, thou can take credit and we shall cheer as comrades of the pipe! Rejoice my inept pilferer of paychecks, for you need no longer live under the cloud of shame of not being able to provide basic human services.
We'll talk about the laundry room after the building and I revel in my victory. Mead and hot showers for all!
Fair thee well,
If that doesn't get him off his butt to hire a real plumber to avoid whatever damage you would cause by tinkering down there, then it may be a lost cause in which I recommend taking a different tact and subtly sabotage everything so you can slowly cost him/them more money than it would have taken to fulfill the original request.
Bank/Credit Union issues:
(This one I’ll print out the letter and drop a couple of water marks on it to make it seem like you were crying.)
Dear Loan Shark, (of course you would substitute the person's actual name, unless the person is actually named "Loan Shark" in which case, tell that person to get into Rollerderby.)
Per account #_____. With full understanding that you need to make money off my money so you can loan more money to other people and earn money off that money, there is little excuse for how I was treated at your branch when I inquired about the fee. I am now so afraid to come into any of your outlets and you have made me agoraphobic and anthrophobic. I can barely write this note without taking fist-fulls of Xanax or whatever anti-anxiety pills I have handy or sometimes Gummi Bears. All because iron-fists dipped in gold and encrusted with diamonds slapped me in the face in the form of your corporate customer relations.
Should you see it in your heart to refund these fees I may be able to leave the confines of my bathroom (it's so cold and ceramic in here, let me be free!). The $50 is not much to you, but on my road to recovery it would restore my faith in humanity and prevent my skin from grafting to the toilet seat.
More porridge please,
But I don't do JUST reactionary letters, oh no, I specialize in preemptive letters: These are good when you want something but can't really afford it so you complain ahead of time in the hope that the business will send you free stuff to shut you up. It's true, try it.
Dear Mickey Mouse (do a little research and you can find the name of the manager of your local theme park),
My family visited your park-of-doom-and-harassment on November 29 (choose a date about two weeks in the past). It has taken me this long to recover from the trauma dealt by your park and employees. Let's move past the fact I was subjected to uncorralled children! I mean, they were walking around FREE, outside of their cages and unleashed, with all their greasy, disease-ridden hands…ew. May as well have forced me to make out with leprosy patients. But worse evils were perpetrated upon my personage. What happened!?! WHAT HAPPENED!?! You want me to relive the THE DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL that I had to endure and continue to endure as I shuffle upon this earth!?! Outrage!
Don't make me turn to Six Flags, or risk my life at a carnival.
Parent of A Baker’s Dozen Children from Cambodia to Siberia to Wisconsin
There’s also expensive restaurants none of us can afford:
Neither your waiter nor your chef apologized for the black, curly hair I found in my soup. Lucky for you I work for the military and we were looking for more humane ways to torture prisoners post-waterboarding, and sneaking dark curly hairs into the food we’re already peeing in. No torture is worse than finding a foreign hair in your food, especially one that looks like it once nestled in the thicket beneath the waistline.
I don’t know how you can make it up to me.
Blessed Oral Herpes,
Ms. Yelp Citysearch (Professional complaint letter writing tip: Name recognition like a motherf***er!)
If you require our skills, if you have someone you’re thinking about firing off a sternly-worded missive to, contact me first and for a tiny fee based upon your mental state, I will craft a letter for you, because you’re too good to waste your own words on jackasses (hey, that’s a good tag line). I’m like an indirect A-Team.
Thank you again to the Vapid Vixen for her general awesomeness and offering me this opportunity.