(no subject)
Dear Mr. Christie,
Your cookies are crap. They're worse than crap. They're horribly depraved, wretched, foul disgusting cookies. My daughter was changing in her bedroom and one of your cookies walked in and began making lewd remarks about her undeveloped... ! chest... I was appalled. I threw said cookie in the trash where it belonged, only to turn around and find a package of chocolate biscuits exposing themselves to my Pomeranian. Muzzles is not used to such deplorable behavior, nor have I any intention of exposing her delicate senses to the facts of the untamed world. Thanks to your cookies, my precious now spends her days pressed firmly against the bay window dreaming of a life less constricting - a life of filth and cookies!
I’m compelled to express my further dismay at learning that not only have you failed to remove trans fats from your recipe, you've begun mixing rat poison into the products which I order for delivery from your warehouse. This is unconscionable! Mr. Christie, I eat those cookies! They aren’t intended for pest termination of any sort. They are in fact my primary source of sustenance. I hate it but it’s true. What happened to us, Mr.? I used to sleep with a sack of your cookies under my pillow. Now I make sure to keep all my limbs directly over my bed at night for fear that your baked goods might attack any part of me that dangles within their reach.
I know this is the third letter I’ve sent you today, and you must be very busy, but please respond because I’m starting to think you don’t love me any more.
Your cookies are crap. They're worse than crap. They're horribly depraved, wretched, foul disgusting cookies. My daughter was changing in her bedroom and one of your cookies walked in and began making lewd remarks about her undeveloped... ! chest... I was appalled. I threw said cookie in the trash where it belonged, only to turn around and find a package of chocolate biscuits exposing themselves to my Pomeranian. Muzzles is not used to such deplorable behavior, nor have I any intention of exposing her delicate senses to the facts of the untamed world. Thanks to your cookies, my precious now spends her days pressed firmly against the bay window dreaming of a life less constricting - a life of filth and cookies!
I’m compelled to express my further dismay at learning that not only have you failed to remove trans fats from your recipe, you've begun mixing rat poison into the products which I order for delivery from your warehouse. This is unconscionable! Mr. Christie, I eat those cookies! They aren’t intended for pest termination of any sort. They are in fact my primary source of sustenance. I hate it but it’s true. What happened to us, Mr.? I used to sleep with a sack of your cookies under my pillow. Now I make sure to keep all my limbs directly over my bed at night for fear that your baked goods might attack any part of me that dangles within their reach.
I know this is the third letter I’ve sent you today, and you must be very busy, but please respond because I’m starting to think you don’t love me any more.