the funniest complaints
Posted by mandrake at 11:11 PM on February 15, 2009.
some entertainment i found online.some of them have apparently been making the rounds online already. variously from the telegraph, the guardian etc.
try this and this and then the rest. why cant we all be as eloquent/creative/angry?
This was in The Guardian 27/9/03
Dear Mr Addison,
I am writing to you to express our thanks for your more than prompt
reply to our latest communication, and also to answer some of the
points you raise.
I will address them, as ever, in order.
Firstly, I must take issue with your description of our last as a
"begging letter". It might perhaps more properly be referred to as a
"tax demand". This is how we, at the Inland Revenue have always, for
reasons of accuracy; traditionally referred to such documents.
Secondly, your frustration at our adding to the "endless stream of
crapulent whining and panhandling vomited daily through the letterbox
on to the doormat" has been noted. However, whilst I have naturally not
seen the other letters to which you refer I would cautiously suggest
that their being from "pauper councils, Lombardy pirate banking houses
and pissant gas-mongerers" might indicate that your decision to "file
them next to the toilet in case of emergencies is at best a little
ill-advised.
In common with my own organisation, it is unlikely that the senders of
these letters do see you as a "lackwit bumpkin or, come to that, a
"sodding charity". More likely they see you as a citizen of Great
Britain, with a responsibility to contribute to the upkeep of the
nation as a whole.
Which brings me to my next point. Whilst there may be some spirit of
truth in your assertion that the taxes you pay "go to shore up the
canker-blighted, toppling folly that is the Public Services", a
moment's rudimentary calculation ought to disabuse you of the notion
that the government in any way expects you to "stump up for the whole
damned party" yourself. The estimates you provide for the Chancellor's
disbursement of the funds levied by taxation, whilst colourful, are, in
fairness, a little off the mark. Less than you seem to imagine is spent
on "junkets for Bunterish lickspittles" and "dancing whores" whilst far
more than you have accounted for is allocated to, for example, "that
box-ticking facade of a university system."
A couple of technical points arising from direct queries:
1. The reason we don't simply write "Muggins" on the envelope has to do with the vagaries of the postal system;
2. You can rest assured that "sucking the very marrows of those with
nothing else to give" has never been considered as a practice because
even if the Personal Allowance didn't render it irrelevant, the sheer
medical logistics involved would make it financially unviable.
I trust this has helped. In the meantime, whilst I would not in any way
wish to influence your decision one way or the other, I ought to point
out that even if you did choose to "give the whole foul jamboree up and
go and live in India" you would still owe us the money. Please forward
it by Friday.
Yours Sincerely,
H J Lee Customer Relations
Dear Cretins,
I have been an NTL customer since 9th July 2001, when I signed up for
your 3-in-one deal for cable TV, cable modem, and telephone. During
this three month period I have encountered inadequacy of service which
I had not previously considered possible, as well as ignorance and
stupidity of monolithic proportions.
Please allow me to provide specific details, so that you can either
pursue your professional prerogative, and seek to rectify these
difficulties - or more likely (I suspect) so that you can have some
entertaining reading material as you while away the working day smoking
B&H and drinking vendor-coffee on the bog in your office.
My initial installation was cancelled without warning or notice,
resulting in my spending an entire Saturday sitting on my fat arse
waiting for your technician to arrive. When he did not arrive at all, I
spent a further 57 minutes listening to your infuriating hold music,
and the even more annoying Scottish robot woman telling me to look at
your helpful website.... how? I alleviated the boredom to some small
degree by playing with my testicles for a few minutes - an activity at
which you are no-doubt both familiar and highly adept.
The rescheduled installation then took place some two weeks later,
although the technician did forget to bring a number of vital tools -
such as a drill-bit, and his cerebrum. Two weeks later, my cable modem
had still not arrived. After several further telephone calls (actually
15 telephone calls over 4 weeks) my modem arrived ... a total of six
weeks after I had requested it, and begun to pay for it. I estimate
that the downtime of your internet servers is roughly 35%... these are
usually the hours between about 6pm and midnight, Monday to Friday, and
most of the useful periods over the weekend. I am still waiting for my
telephone connection.
I have made nine telephone calls on my mobile to your no-help line this
week, and have been unhelpfully transferred to a variety of
disinterested individuals, who are it seems also highly skilled bollock
jugglers. I have been informed that a telephone line is available (and
someone will call me back), that no telephone line is available (and
someone will call me back), that I will be transferred to someone who
knows whether or not a telephone line is available (and then been cut
off), that I will be transferred to someone who knows whether or not a
telephone line is available (and then been redirected to an answer
machine informing me that your office is closed), that I will be
transferred to someone who knows whether or not a telephone line is
available (and then been redirected to the irritating Scottish robot
woman.... and several other variations on this theme. Doubtless you are
no longer reading this letter, as you have at least a thousand other
dissatisfied customers to ignore, and also another one of those
crucially important testicle-moments to attend to. Frankly I don't
care, it's far more satisfying as a customer to voice my frustrations
in print than to shout them at your unending hold music.
Forgive me, therefore, if I continue. I thought BT were shit, that they
had attained the holy piss-pot of god-awful customer relations, that
no-one, anywhere, ever, could be more disinterested, less helpful or
more obstructive to delivering service to their customers. That's why I
chose NTL, and because, well, there isn't anyone else is there? How
surprised I therefore was, when I discovered to my considerable
dissatisfaction and disappointment what a useless shower of bastards
you truly are. You are sputum-filled pieces of distended rectum:
incompetents of the highest order. British Telecom - ******s though
they are - shine like brilliant beacons of success in the filthy
puss-filled mire of your seemingly limitless inadequacy.
Suffice to say that I have now given up on my futile and foolhardy
quest to receive any kind of service from you. I suggest that you do
likewise, and cease any potential future attempts to extort payment
from me for the services which you have so pointedly and
catastrophically failed to deliver. Any such activity will be greeted
initially with hilarity and disbelief - although these feelings will
quickly be replaced by derision, and even perhaps a small measure of
bemused rage.
I enclose two small deposits, selected with great care from my cats
litter tray, as an expression of my utter and complete contempt for
both you, and your pointless company. I sincerely hope that they have
not become desiccated during transit - they were satisfyingly moist at
the time of posting, and I would feel considerable disappointment if
you did not experience both their rich aroma and delicate texture.
Consider them the very embodiment of my feelings towards NTL, and its
worthless employees. Have a nice day - may it be the last in your
miserable short life, you irritatingly incompetent and infuriatingly
unhelpful bunch of twats,
Yours psychotically,
To whom it may concern,
I am writing to thank you for bouncing my check with which I endeavored to pay my plumber last month. By my calculations, three nanoseconds must have elapsed between his depositing the check and the arrival in my account of the funds needed to honor it. I refer, of course, to the automatic monthly transfer of funds from my modest savings account, an arrangement which, I admit, has been in place for only thirty-one years. You are to be commended for seizing that brief window of opportunity, and also for debiting my account $30 by way of penalty for the inconvenience caused to your bank.
My thankfulness springs from the manner in which this incident has caused me to rethink my errant financial ways. I noticed that whereas I personally attend to your telephone calls and letters, when I try to contact you, I am confronted by the impersonal, overcharging, pre-recorded, faceless entity which your bank has recently become. From now on, I, like you, choose only to deal with a flesh-and-blood person. My mortgage and loan repayments will therefore and hereafter no longer be automatic, but will arrive at your bank, by check, addressed personally and confidentially to an employee at your bank whom you must nominate. Be aware that it is an offense under the Postal Act for any other person to open such an envelope.
Please find attached an Application Contact Status form which I require your chosen employee to complete. I am sorry it runs to eight pages, but in order that I know as much about him or her as your bank knows about me, there is no alternative. Please note that all copies of his or her medical history must be countersigned by a Notary Public, and the mandatory details of his/her financial situation (income, debts, assets and liabilities) must be accompanied by documented proof. In due course, I will issue your employee with a PIN number which he/she must quote in dealings with me. I regret that it cannot be shorter than 28 digits but, again, I have modeled it on the number of button presses required of me to access my account balance on your phone bank service. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Please allow me to level the playing field even further. When you call me, you will now have a menu of options on my new voice mail system to choose from.
Please press the buttons as follows:
1. To make an appointment to see me.
2 .To query a missing payment.
3. To transfer the call to my living room in case I am there.
4. To transfer the call to my bedroom in case I am sleeping.
5. To transfer the call to my toilet in case I am attending to nature.
6. To transfer the call to my mobile phone if I am not at home.
7. To leave a message on my computer, a password to access my computer is required. Password will be communicated to you at a later date to the Authorized Contact.
8. To return to the main menu and to listen to options 1 through 7.
9. To make a general complaint or inquiry. The contact will then be put on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service. While this may, on occasion, involve a lengthy wait, uplifting music will play for the duration of the call.
Regrettably, but again following your example, I must also levy an establishment fee of $50 to cover the setting up of this new arrangement. Please credit my account after each occasion.
May I wish you a happy, if ever so slightly less prosperous, New Year.
Your Humble Client,
***************************************************************************************************************************************************************
- Dear Mr. Thatcher,
I have been a loyal user of your ‘Always’ maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the Leak Guard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I’d probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I’d certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts.
But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can’t tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there’s a little F-16 in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from ‘the curse’? I’m guessing you haven’t. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body.
Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I’ll be transformed into what my husband likes to call ‘an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.’ Isn’t the human body amazing?
As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you’ve no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers monthly visits from ‘Aunt Flo’. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying, jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it’s a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend’s testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey’s Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!
The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants… Which brings me to the reason for my letter.
Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: ‘Have a Happy Period.’
Are you ------ kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness, is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James?
FYI, unless you’re some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything ‘happy’ about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don’t march down to the local Walgreen’s armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.
For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn’t it make more sense to say something that’s actually pertinent, like ‘Put down the Hammer’ or ‘Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong’, or are you just picking on us?
Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bull sh*t.
And that’s a promise I will keep. Always!
Best,
*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************
- Dear Sir/madam/automated telephone answering service
Having spent the past twenty minutes waiting for someone at Leith police station to pick up a telephone I have decided to abandon the idea and try e-mailing you instead. Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this message on to your colleagues in Leith by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or ouji board.
As I'm writing this e-mail there are eleven failed medical experiments (I think you call them youths) in West Cromwell Street which is just off Commercial Street in Leith. Six of them seem happy enough to play a game which involves kicking a football against an iron gate with the force of a meteorite. This causes an earth shattering CLANG! Which rings throughout the entire building. This game is now in it's third week and as I am unsure how the scoring system works, I have no idea if it will end any time soon.
The remaining five walking abortions are happily rummaging through several bags of rubbish and items of furniture that someone has so thoughtfully dumped beside the wheelie bins. One of them has found a saw and is setting about a discarded chair like a beaver on speed. I fear that it's only a matter of time before they turn their limited attention to the bottle of calor gas that is lying on it's side between the two bins. If they could be relied on to only blow their own arms and legs off then I would happily leave them to it. I would even go so far as to lend them the matches. Unfortunately they are far more likely to blow up half the street with them and I've just finished decorating the kitchen.
What I suggest is this. After replying to this e-mail with worthless assurances that the matter is being looked into and will be dealt with, why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath night) when there are no mutants around then drive up the street in a panda car before doing a three point turn and disappearing again. This will of course serve no other purpose than to remind us what policemen actually look like.
I trust that when I take a claw-hammer to the skull of one of these throwbacks you'll do me the same courtesy of giving me a four month head start before coming to arrest me.
I remain sir, your obedient servant
****************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Mr ----
I have read your e-mail and understand you frustration at the problems caused by youth playing in the area and the problems you have encountered in trying to contact the police. As the Community Beat Officer for your street I would like to extend an offer of discussing the matter fully with you. Should you wish to discuss the matter, please provide contact details (address / telephone number) and when may be suitable.
Regards
PC 387
Community Beat Officer
****************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Dear PC 387
First of all I would like to thank you for the speedy response to my original e-mail. 16 hours and 38 minutes must be a personal record for Leith Police station and rest assured that I will forward these details to Norris McWhirter for inclusion in his next book.
Secondly I was delighted to hear that our street has it's own community beat officer. May I be the first to congratulate you on your covert skills. In the five or so years I have lived in West Cromwell Street, I have never seen you. Do you hide up a tree or have you gone deep undercover and infiltrated the gang itself? Are you the one with the acne and the moustache on his forehead or the one with a chin like a wash hand basin? It's surely only a matter of time before you are head-hunted by MI5.
Whilst I realise that there may be far more serious crimes taking place in Leith such as smoking in a public place or being Muslim without due care and attention, is it too much to ask for a policeman to explain (using words of no more than two syllables at a time) to these t***s that they might want to play their strange football game elsewhere? The pitch behind the Citadel or the one at DK's are both within spitting distance, as is the bottom of the Leith Dock.
Should you wish to discuss these matters further you should feel free to contact me on 557 0890 If after 25 minutes I have still failed to answer, I'll buy you a large one in the Compass Bar.
Regards
---------
P.S If you think that this is sarcasm, think yourself lucky that you don't work for the cleansing department.
