Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Dear Breathe Right Nasal Strips,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 25 year old marine biologist. I was recently watching my television unit, and saw a commercial for your product on the brandpower.ca advertisement. I have to say, Breathe Right Nasal Strip; I believe it could have been far more inspiring. So, with the aid of a 26er of vodka, I have cnococted aq commercial chock full of sinspiration.Picture this: A zookeeper has atrocious allergies. He's also full of vehement hate. He;s keeping the zoo.. get it?? zookee[per!! But he hates animals. He's allergic. So he's scooping their business, and "keeping" tjem and such, and he gets sick of coughing and yrelling all the time. What;s thyat rhyme? Beer before liquor.. get you sicker? But reverse it and it's a good time, rigt? What are you doing for New Years? Do you like to party? So he's cleaning, and he gets fed up so he grabs his breathe right strips, and there's a close up on it, and the ligjting's really bright and he takes out one of teh strips, and he puts it on.. an elephanT!!! Right?? Because he's spiteful and wants them to know how bad they really smell! He's a petty zookeeper. He wants the animals to know what he goes through.
I demand $50 for use of my idea.
I look forward to an immmmmediate reasponse.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
December 28, 2008
Dear Canadian Tire,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 25 year old organization enthusiast, who has sashayed down your aisles of inconvenience for the very last time.
I am appalled.. no, nauseated, at the reality of every single one of your stores being laid out completely different.
I don't know if you're trying to keep us faithful consumers on our toes, Canadian Tire, but I for one have run out of toes.
The Canadian Tire near Sherway Gardens always stores their winter treasures in aisle 92. This is where I assumed every Canadian Tire housed their winter treasures.
I recently scrambled into the Canadian Tire at Mavis and Dundas, and was headed to aisle 92 for my shovel and icemelt.
Do you know what I found in aisle 92, Canadian Tire? After I trekked across what felt the entire country, I did not find winter treasures; I found Polly Pockets, BBQ parts, and Rubbermaid bins. Nothing that remotely resembled a shovel or icemelt. They weren't even in the same category, like a spade and a bucket. They didn't have anything to do with eachother. I was left aghast, overwrought with anger, frustration, shame.. and I demand retribution. After that, I couldn't even see my simply scribbled list of necessities my mother had tucked safely in my fanny pack for me, through the blur of tears that had began swelling in my eyes. I crumpled the list in my sweaty bloated hands, and I threw it. I threw it into one of the clearly tampered with Rubbermaid containers, slammed on the lid, and said a silent prayer that hopefully sent it to hell.
I cantered out of that locale as quickly as my petulant legs would carry me, and I made a pact with myself never to step foot into another Canadian Tire as long as I live.
I can't believe you would do this to me. I can't believe you would do this to us all.
Unless Helen Keller is the Head of Marketing for Canadian Tire, you owe me, and everyone of your other customers, an apology. I demand every Canadian Tire to organize their stores in the exact same manner, three hundred dollars in Canadian Tire money, and icemelt and a shovel. I don't think that's asking too much.
I thank you for your time, and look forward to my retribution immediately.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Dear Warner Music,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 25 year old aspiring carney that has emotionally crippling issues with Christmas music. Now Warner Music, I am no Grinch. Why, I love Christmas. But when I am working, and have to listen to "Christmas Now3" basically on loop for eight hours a day, I think that's enough to make anyone go a little berserk.
As for the Pussycat Dolls version of "Santa Baby"... well you're lucky. They have eternal immunity; or at least immunity until they lose their elasticity.
Naturally 7's, "No Christmas Without You" just left a bad taste in my mouth. I'm so over sappy Christmas songs.
"The Christmas Song" was an attempt by Divine Brown to wow her meager clan of fans, when she should have just been content to be fondly remembered in our hearts as a one hit wonder with "Old School Love".
As for Brian McKnight's rendition of, "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas", I must sheepishly admit that I stopped listening; so that can't be a good sign.
I'll refrain from pointing out the irony of Keith Urban's, "White Christmas", because we're all proud of him for kicking his habit, plus I liked Moulin Rouge and his wife's a babe.
Colbie Caillat's, "Mistletoe" was dreary and dreadful; she is not capable of singing anything that isn't strongly reminiscent of that "toes, nose" song.
I believe I can safely say that everyone is over bubblegum teen carols, so Ashley Tisdale's prepubescent charm was lost on me.
Bryan Adams needs to calm down. He really does. No matter what he chooses to sing, he always sounds like he's doing a benefit concert about something whiny. Aside from that, the words to "Christmas Time" make me stabby. So stabby.
Joss Stone, Ron Sexsmith, and Tami Swick don't necessarily deserve to be heckled; they just didn't make me feel festive.
This, Warner Music, brings me to Jewel. Oh Jewel. You know, yodelling was kinda neat for a second when we felt sorry for you because you lived in a van, and when we heard it we all pictured you driving around sobbing with hairbrush raised to your weathered lips like a makeshift microphone, yodelling with the night air as your audience? Well, we're over it. Have been since you came out with that book of weirdo poetry. Yodelling has no place at Christmas time. Jewel, I know you miss being a "B" list celebrity, but my "Winter Wonderland" is one that's void of your crackily comatose voice.
KT Tunstall. I wish I could criticize past singing debackles, however I literally have no idea who you are. This being said, while trying to make it through "Sleigh Ride", you sound like you're falling asleep with a mouthful of roast beef. In addition, just so you know, it's not "hip" to sound indifferent, because in the end you're still singing a Christmas carol.
Serena Ryder. I liked your song. I know. I listened to it 37 times because I was desperate to find something I could mock, but "Calling To Say" is actually a very charming song.
MOVING ALONG, WARNER MUSIC..
Dennis De Young. Sweet sassy molassy. Are you serious? Your song, "When I Hear a Christmas Song" makes me feel so unbelievably hopeless. If I could formulate the feeling your holiday diddy evokes in my soul, I would say it can be compared to watching a movie where the main character's best friend ends up dying from some tragic and obscure illness, and as soon as they die someone bursts into the room who realizes that a cure has existed all along. Then, the main character gets word that his family has just gotten into an abhorrent and unnecessary car accident. And then you realize that it's not a movie, Warner Music; it's your real life. This song makes me feel like it's not worth waking up in the morning. I think Mr. De Young should be strongly reprimanded, and an appointment with a career councillor should be made mandatory so that he can immediately choose a different direction with his life. Perhaps mortician, so you fit in with all your "customers".
Chad Michael Stewart. You've really outdone yourself with this one. I am literally astonished that you could make a Christmas carol sound like a suicide note. There is such dispair in your voice that I feel like your tears were almost being emitted through the shoddily constructed cd player that dwells at my place of work. Then, when you don't think the barely audible swan song that you made "Silent Night" into could get any worse, you crescendoed into a boredom induced stroke to finish it off. If you hate Christmas so much, why don't you just convert to Judaism? Christmas can just pass right on by, like a fleeting case of food poisoning, and you'll never have to think about it again. Consider it?
Hawksley Workman. You were always pretty bad ass. "Smoke Baby" was a solid song, and "No Reason to Cry Out Your Eyes" was great. I'm just curious though: in "Merry Christmas (I Love You)", were you drinking during the song, or did you just get hammered before?
Last, but certainly not least, I come to Red Hot Chili Peppers, with "Deck The Halls". I don't get it. And it's scary. I really am at a loss, it's such a ridiculous song.
Warner Music, I'm sure by now we both see eye to eye on your Christmas CD fiasco. I don't think I'm being unreasonable in demanding retribution. Although I didn't personally purchase this CD, I feel like I've been robbed of a lot more than money. My sanity, and patience. I demand $20 for having to put up with this Yuletide malarky, and a written apology from you, and every single artist on this CD. Minus Serena Ryder. I thank you for your time, and look forward to an immediate response, and subsequent presents.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Dear Cure Sleepiness Right Away,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 25 year old semi professional soap opera star that very recently came across your reputable product.
Your product boasts of being "... suitable for long distance driving drunk driving, and night driving". Although that's an impressive feat that you have a "cure" to make drunk driving easier than ever, I can't help but feel a little unsettled about the notion of there being a product to aid drunken messes on the roads.
I'm actually quite speechless, and I demand retribution. As a survivor of watching those extreme videos on tv, and seeing countless vehicular accidents, I demand retribution. Your product is tacky and unconscionable. I'd like ten dollars, and an assortment of rare pogs.
Merry Christmas. I look forward to my presents. That is all.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Dear Rosie O'Donnell,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 25 year old aspiring fountain pen repairer, and I need to tell you something of imparative importance.
You are not a singer. I believe you knew that already, but somewhere along the line, you forgot. Maybe someone tried to convince you doing a charity CD would be great publicity, maybe someone told you it would be a commendable deed before Christmas, and that's ok; I don't blame you. What I do blame you for is deciding to further personalize the CD by adding your own song to the soundtrack. You didn't have to do that Rosie O'Donnell. Nevertheless, when I was strolling through my local mall the other day, and I heard that God awful Christmas music blaring, I didn't think my day could get any worse. Then I heard the first few opening chords, "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus", and *your* shrieking voice followed... I couldn't believe my damn ears. I didn't know such a cover existed. For so many reasons this is obviously a very ironic choice of song, but I digress. I'll stick to the issue at hand.
This song was not precious, festive, or congruous to any age group. It was painful. I'm not sure if it was Parker, your son, who accompanied you in this atrocity, or some random homeless child you coaxed out of the cold with assurance of a warm meal and something shiny. It doesn't matter though. The appalling, beastly brat embarassing himself in the background just added to the torture my ears had to endure.
Rosie O'Donnell, I demand retribution. I believe the only fair solution would be for you to immediately implement the removal of every "A Rosie Christmas" CD's that are on shelves or in production. An apology letter is also in order, as is the distribution of several koosh balls and koosh launchers to my house.
Thank you very much for your time, and I look forward to these discrepencies being rectified immediately.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Dear The Midway State,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I attended your show last night at The Phoenix in Toronto, when you opened up for Justin Nozuka. You put on a great show; even though my roommate and I were almost illegally intoxicated, you managed to keep our attention and we were even inclined to purchase your CD. This, The Midway State, is the nucleus of this predicament.
We were waiting for Nathan to sign our copy of, "Holes", to which he somewhat lethargically obliged. I got my copy signed, "To Sarah, Nathan Somethingscribbled". However my roommate "LINN", who is extremely sensitive and low functioning, received a hastily signed, "To LINA, Nathan Somethingscribbled". For the duration of the concert, I had to hold her and rock her to sleep in the back of the Phoenix concert theatre, due to the extreme anxiety that was thrown at her, like a pair of panties from one of your rabid fans. We ended up leaving the concert early, even though I am a huge Justin Niboozled fan, and I'd like some retribution, please. It'd be fantastic if you could please send us two new CDs. One labelled, "To Sarah: Our muse, our life. Thank you for inspiring every single song we have ever wrote, and ever will write." The second addressed to my unstable roommate, labelled, "To Linn: You have a beautiful name, and it does not have an 'a' at the end of it." And then write a short but sincere limerick, please. Then possibly send a couple of stickers, and maybe a few gift certificates to Swiss Chalet. You know, to fill the void.
Thank you so much for your time, and we look forward to hearing back from you guys. Keep on rockin' in the free world.
Sarah Bertrand and Linn Mamoniw
***RESPONSE: December 21, 2008***
Re: Midwaystate.com ContactSunday, December 21, 2008 12:59 PM
From: "The Midway State"
Haha Hi Sarah. Sounds like you had a great time on Friday. As did we!
So, just to be clear: you're asking for two CDs because you're unhappy with
the ones you got signed? Did you lose them or are they broken in some way?
***RESPONSE FROM ME: December 21, 2008***
Re: Midwaystate.com ContactSunday, December 21, 2008 1:19 PM
From: "Sarah Bertrand"
Hi Daenen! Thanks for the speedy reply. My roommate didn't really have the best time at the concert! Remember? The crying and the devastation? I will be reasonable, The Midway State. If two new CDs are not within reason, if I received two autographed pictures, one for me and one for Linn, with outrageous and ridiculous dedications.. you would make my Christmas. Your band would stand out from all the rest, and you could all walk with your heads held high, knowing you pleased this impressionable aspiring crocodile wrangler. You could make me a lifetime fan. I have to go. I'm going to make a grilled cheese. Do you like grilled cheese? - Sarah Bertrand
***Received two not personalized pictures autographed by the entire band!!***
Dear Crane Merchandising Systems,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a disgruntled young lady who enjoys practicality, and delicious reasonably priced snacks. Although your company produces neither one of these, I still am an avid user of your vending machine, due to lack of options. I believe it's best if I keep my place of employment shrouded in mystery, because the degree of stress and hopelessness I'm feeling could translate into aggression, and I don't want it to reflect badly on the good people at Roger's. Oh. Oh dear.
I can accept that in this day and age, with the recession and all, that established businesses feel it is proper protocol to maintain inflated prices on your merchandise. However I cannot accept that fifty percent of the time I go to the vending machine when I am parched, or am in need of a healthy energy supplement (such as the Miss Vickie's Rosemary and Basil chips that I just consumed), that I am inevitably left in the end, staring slackjawed with confusion and disgust at the dangling treat I purchased with my hard earned money. I have to go and get a brawnier coworker to aid me in getting what is rightfully mine. Sometimes I will sit there and pummel your vending machine for twenty minutes at a time, watching the bag of chips, or package of cookies (depending on my mood) suspended in mid air, mocking me. I'll kick and punch, punch and kick, until victory is mine, and I have my unreasonably priced tidbit in my sweaty little grateful hand. As I gallop down the hallway, cramming fistfuls of snacky goodness into my delicate mouth, my delight is hindered because of what an unnecessary production it was to come into possession of my treat.
Crane Merchandising Systems, retribution needs to be had. I'm aware it will be hard to tally the amount of money I have meandered away on your vending machine, so I will ask that perhaps a discount card could be sent to me, guaranteeing me 75% off anything I purchase for the rest of my life. I don't think this is unreasonable. I will be checking my mailbox every five minutes until I receive your package, complete with discount card and letter of apology. Thank you for your time and consideration, and I look forward to an immediate response.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 25 year old fortune cookie writer that's had enough.
Your commercials for the Swiffer Sweeper Vac are are reminiscent of poisonous worms that have burrowed their way into my subsconscious, to the point where I have Hall and Oates, "Baby Come Back" screaming in my head for the duration of the day afterwards.
I don't want to even get started on Swiffer Wet Jets. If you were trying to create a product that effectively cleaned and functioned properly, well then I hope this is just your prototype. The only thing Swiffer products do well, is moisten the dirt and change it's location awkwardly around my kitchen.
Proctor and Gamble, I demand retribution. I'd like the $29.99 plus applicable taxes for the abortive Swiffer Wet Jet that I erroneously purchased, and I would appreciate if a massive warning was plastered on the package of all of your Swiffer products from now on, stating that unless you have an unrealistic floor, with absolutely no blemishes, and concocted of magic, then the Swiffer series will prove to be futile.
I thank you for your time, and look forward to my retribution, as well as this imparative change, to be implemented immediately.
***RESPONSE December 14, 2008***
Thank you for contacting P&G. [ ref:00D7JViV.50077XFpU:ref
From: ""P&G North America"
Add sender to Contacts To: "firstname.lastname@example.org
Thank you for sharing your disappointment with our Swiffer products including our Wet Jet. Our goal is to produce high quality products that consistently delight our consumers and I'm sorry this wasn't your experience. Please be assured I'm sharing your comments with the rest of our team.
Since your satisfaction means a great deal to us, I'm following up with you by postal mail. You should receive my letter within the next 2-3 weeks. Also, your check for 30.00 will arrive in a separate mailing. I'm sorry but we don't reimburse for tax.
Thanks again for writing.
P.S. If you're a mom who likes learning about new products and sharing your opinions about them, we'd love to hear from you! Join Vocalpoint to preview and influence new products and services, as well as receive coupons and samples you can share with friends or family. Membership is free, always voluntary, and your privacy is guaranteed. To join or to find out more about Vocalpoint, just click on http://site.vocalpoint.com
***UPDATE: Received a cheque for $30.00 in the mail!***
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Dear PJs Pet Store Shoppers/ Browsers,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a kennel worker at the Scarborough Town Centre PJs Pet Store location.
Since it is Christmas time, in the spirit of giving, I will no longer repress the three years of constant abuse and subjection to complete and utter stupidity I have endured; here is a piece of my mind.
To the woman with the attitude who sauntered through the dog department in brisk fall weather, sporting a beautiful cloak of death draped over her tacky, oblivious shoulders; really? A full length fur coat, in a pet store? Really? Although you did look utterly glamorous, and as though you had an obscene amount of class and money, traipsing through Scarborough Town Centre during a week day afternoon, when you should most undoubtedly be either at work or at home taking care of the plethora of children you've forsakenly spawned.
You made sure you stopped infront of every single kennel to appraise all of the "merchandise" we had, and I can assure you Miss; not only were the dogs all judging you as harshly as all the staff in the store, but in addition make no mistake: all those titters and jeers were definately directed at you, the woman with the carcass keeping her warm, who we affectionately had labelled Cruella Deville.
To the woman who gawked at me like I was a fantastic feces cleaning phenomenon? You were crouched down with your son, watching me in the bottom kennel for the entire duration I was cleaning and disinfecting, doing the job that I choose to have for the time being so I can pay my rent; I can read lips. Even though it looked like I was having an impressive and paramount day already, you know, with the obvious vomit that had already encrusted my scrub shirt, I appreciated seeing you mouth to your overweight underachieving son, "See what happens when you don't get an education?", as a warning, and then point at me. At first I was upset, trying to blink back tears because on top of everything else that I had been dealing with, I was being unabashedly insulted at my place of work. Then I actually smiled to myself, when the prudent hilarity of the situation swept over me like the overwhelming stench of the rash inducing "perfume" you were wearing: you are not better than me. If anything, the frumpy, gaudy shoulder padded mess of an ensemble you were wearing gave me hope, that whatever warning you gave your son about what path not to follow in life, he would rebel against you and your obnoxious ignorance. Just so you know, I have three jobs, as well as a college degree.
To the countless people who think it's hilarious to come in and look through the kennel window we're in there cleaning, minding our own business; it will never be funny to ask, "How much for you?" and then start killing yourself laughing. We don't smile because we hear it at least ten times a day. The answer will always be the same: Too much for you too afford. Just like our overpriced animals.
To the legions of saints who come in almost daily and tell us how sorry you feel for the animals, and what horrible people we are and that we should be ashamed of ourselves: you're right. I get paid so much money, that I don't care what I'm asked to do. I have no self respect, no conscience, and for minimum wage I would gladly come in a few times a week from downtown Toronto, just so I can abuse animals. You are incredibly accurate in assuming you have the right to come in and degrade complete strangers in an obviously uninformed manner, and you should all pat yourselves on the back. Calm down; you're not a hero, and your annoying grievances don't make a shred of a difference.
To the amusing teenagers who constantly attempt to make their deadbeat friends giggle, and ruffle some feathers at the store: no, we do not kill the animals if we can't sell them right away. We always sell them. If they happen to not go immediately, we transfer them to a store where they will get a home immediately. It's not funny, nor will it ever be, because that "joke" has been done too many times before for anyone to care that you're trying to be witty.
To the man and his sister/impregnated girlfriend who came into the store and attempted to buy our sweet, beautiful rottweiler; thank you. Although we do not believe you, no matter how many times you tell the story about how you had a "half" rottweiler, "half" pitbull, and "half" timberwolf... your story still manages to put a smile on all of our faces, and a gaggle of laughter in our hearts. You were absolutely insane, and no dog has ever reached 450 pounds, so even if you say it in a voice with authority, and make awkward excited eye contact in the process, it still doesn't make it true. You weren't not approved for the puppy because of your credit; it was because you are certifiably insane, and we were worried you would try and ride her home, out of the store, to freedom, if we let you purchase her.
Lastly, but certainly not least, to all the people who stick their fingers in the kitten cage, and act aggressively towards us when we tell you not to. We don't care if you have "gentle" fingers. We don't care that you're going through the trouble of tangling us in your web of lies that you just washed your hands, or funnier still, that you're "not" (if we call you on it, chances are you've been caught, and it's just embarassing for you to deny it). We don't care if you think you're "qualified" to touch them because you have 13 cats waiting for you at home; first of all, that's illegal, and secondly, it doesn't even make sense. We especially don't care if you try and tell us that "you didn't touch the kittens, they were touching you." Are you a five year old fighting with your sibling in the back of your parents car on the way to Disney World? You are all responsible for me contemplating actually exposing myself to rabies, just so I can run out and bite your dishonest, moronic fingers, like I pray to God the kittens will do every time I see you trying to unscrupulously sneak in a grab or poke as you pass them. There is a special place in hell for you all.
Three years working at PJs with the lowest grade of human beings that exist has taken it's toll, but now I can breathe. I hope every single one of your Christmases this year is ruined, like you consistantly ruin my day. Think of me as you pass PJs Pet Stores everywhere, especially at Scarborough Town Centre. I'll be the glaring girl in the window, with tattoos and stretched ears, judging you silently, and mentally making notes for my next scriptual middle finger.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Dear Proctor and Gamble,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 25 year old semi professional, who's a reasonable young lady with a passion for cuisine that is so preposterously spicy, it's borderline unnecessary.
Proctor and Gamble, you advertised in your addictive yet tasteless Pepto Bismol commercials that your product cures heartburn, nausea, indigestion, upset stomach, as well as diarrhea. I can assure you I had at least three of these symptoms, and since I am a bashful lady, I will not disclose the five I do have. However, I will say that not only did the product you boast so much about NOT deliver your promise of relief.
Proctor and Gamble, my bowels are bound with disapointment and dispondency. Your product is reminiscent of a lame horse. A pink placebo lame horse of shame. I demand retribution. $9.95 plus applicable taxes for the useless container of lies that remains dormant in the very back of corner of my cabinet, with all the other medicines that I'm currently angry with. As well as a personal mention in your next commercial, that explains that if you're experiencing one of more of the following: nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach or diarrhea... you're better off curling up in the fetal position and praying for your impending death than using your product. Pepto Bismol is a temporary sometimes cure to issues plaguing your intestines and/or soul, and I'd appreciate you being honest with your purchasing public, and legions of fans. I thank you in advance. I will forward you some glamour shots so you can decide which pictures of myself you'd like to include in your next marketing campaign.
***REPLY: December 13, 2008***
Thank you for contacting P&G.
Saturday, December 13, 2008 11:34 AM
From: ""P&G North America"
Thank you for sharing your disappointment with our product. Our goal is to produce high quality products that consistently delight our consumers and I'm sorry this wasn't your experience. Please be assured I'm sharing your comments with the rest of our team. Since your satisfaction means a great deal to us, I'm following up with you by postal mail. You should receive my letter within the next 2-3 weeks. Thanks again for writing.
Amy, Pepto Team
***UPDATE: Received a cheque for $9.95 in the mail!***
My name is Sarah Bertrand and I am a humble employee at PJ's Pet Store in your distinguished mall. I have accepted that my fate is doomed to consist of medicrity and puppy poop, but what I cannot accept, is Christmas music.
Please stop playing it. Seriously. I will end my life in the polluted water fountain right next to Santa's castle of lies if you don't. Christmas music makes me angry, which in turn will make your faithful shoppers angry. Trust me. I'll ensure it happens.
Good day. Bah humbug.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Dear U2, more specifically, Bono,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 25 year old gal that has a Christmas wish this year I hope you can assist me with. Please don't ever sing Christmas songs. Ever. Seriously. I work at a mall, where your song, "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" is basically played on loop all day long, and as soon as I hear the first few chords of the song, and then your sweet soft melacholy voice chimes in, my heart is overcome with emotion. Not the kind of emotion it feels good to experience, but kind of emotion that leaves you feeling like your mind has been ravaged by an energy vampire, and you feel mentally exhausted. You're teary eyed, not because the song struck a positive chord; but because it literally made you feel like your heart is heavy with the burden of just hearing your entire family has been killed in a horrific car crash, and you still have to open up all their Christmas presents.
So, in the spirit of Christmas, maybe you should just lay low. Relax, have some eggnog, not sing Christmas songs. Not even hum them.
I hope this letter is received with all of the urgency and hostility of a bitter mall worker who has given up on her future, and just wants to be left alone in her silent rage, cleaning up after puppies and not listening to music that makes me reflect about war, famine, Ireland, and tinted unnecessary glasses. Merry Christmas!
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Dear Proctor and Gamble-,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I have a query regarding the logic behind choosing your babies, or should I say, preteens, you use in your Pampers commercials. Believe it or not, when I was younger, I too wore diapers. So every time I see your commercials, I feel a deep connection with your product. The children you use in your commercials are at least 13, and realistically probably haven't, or should not have, been wearing diapers for years. They look old enough to secure a job, get married, and possibly have children of their own. They look old enough to have a mortgage, and have already set up their RRSPs. They look old enough to have a car, frequent bars, and old enough to develop a gambling addiction or drinking problem. I was wondering why you would purposefully choose to have them look so dibilitatingly aged? Is it because more realistic actors are too young, and thus unpredictable? Then why not use bigger budget actors, to make it less awkward and not seem like you're trying to deceive your audience, but still make your point in a valid and more respectable manner. Why not Danny DeVito, Emmanuel Lewis from TV's sensation, "Webster", or even Charlie Sheen? They're all somewhat the height of a toddler? I thank you for your time, and look forward to your immediate response.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
I was working away at my desk this afternoon, and after drinking eleven cups of decadent German Chocolate Cake flavoured coffee, I realized that my mouth could use a fresh burst of berry bliss, and fast. So I sauntered down to the local convenience store, sought out a name I trusted, and purchased Wrigley's, Five "Elixir: Mouthwatering Berry" gum, and rabidly shoved four pieces into my mouth as quickly as possible. As I chomped on what I can only describe as what I believe Heaven would taste like, a harsh dose of reality snapped me out of my berry trance.
Wrigley's, riddle me this: Is your gum brand labelled as "Five", because the flavour literally lasts five seconds in your mouth? Like there's an inevitable tiny timer strapped to the underside of each individual piece of glucosified deliciousness, and the second you actually get into the flavour, it's immediately kidnapped from you like tragic episode of "Without A Trace"? Only there is no happy ending, Wrigley's. No one finds the flavour at the end; it's lost. Like the punchline of every joke Bob Saget ever made as Danny Tanner on the hit tv show, "Full House".
I demand retribution. I'd like a pack of your finest gum, one with a minty flavour that will not let me down. I'd also like back my five dollars please. I know that the pack of gum did not cost five dollars, but I'm so upset I can't even remember how much I paid for it. So five dollars will do.
I thank you so much for your time, and look forward to an immediate response. You can forward all retribution to:
Monday, November 24, 2008 9:00 AM
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Dear Burt's Bees,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I'm writing this letter to inform you, as well as your bee minions, that you have pollenated my life with inconvenience. This is a sticky situation, that I hope you can rectify. Everyone is aware that bees are known for their trickery and mystique, but I also believed that they were known for their stellar work ethic and positive attitudes. I was devastated to find out that I was wrong.
On Tuesday November 11, 2008, I sauntered over to the local Shopper's Drug Mart. After comparing each individual tube and pot of chapstick and lip balm, I decided to purchase Burt's Bees beeswax lip balm. I decided on the pot of lip balm, because I felt as though I could control a more even balm distribution; also, the bumble bee adorning the front of the pot made me feel proud and safe.
I was delighted with my new find, and felt that the 45 minutes I had spent in the lip care aisle was well worth it. I knew in my heart that this brand would best suit my chapped lip needs; plus I had heard positive reviews in the past, so I was extremely content with my find.
As I hastily sped home, shoving anyone in my path off of the sidewalk like a manic hurricane, I balled up my receipt and threw it away into oncoming traffic, making peace with the reality that it wouldn't be needed; I would experience 100% customer satisfaction.
Now Burt, when I got home, used my Burt's Bees beeswax lip balm, and it felt phenomenal. My lips tingled with excitement, and I can honestly say I had never in my life felt as good as I did as when I smeared that lip balm all over my lips in an overzealous trance. It worked great once, even twice. But after that, as I attempted with my delicate yet capable fingers to pry open the cap, I found that my efforts were futile. It is literally impossible to remove the lid from the container. I have been trying for four days to do so, and I recognize that I have to admit defeat. Burt, my lips are cracked with animosity and they demand vengeance. Or retribution. All I ask is for a replacement pot of Burt's Bees beeswax lip balm or chapstick, and possibly one or two of your magic bees to do my bidding. I thank you for your consideration, and look forward to a response.
***REPLY: November 19/2008***
RE: Product inquiry for Beeswax Lip Balm
Wednesday, November 19, 2008 11:02 AM
Thank you for taking the time to email us the experience you had with the Lip Balm Tin. Your comments and concerns are always appreciated and extremely important to us.
At Burt’s Bees, product quality is our highest priority. We will share the product information you have provided and your particular concerns with our Quality Assurance team who will investigate this issue further. Please send us your address by reply email and we will also send a brand new product. You do not need to send your product back to us, however if you would send us the 6-7 digit lot code number that is stamped in ink on the bottom or side of your product that information is very useful to us. Please include that information with your address info in your reply email if you can obtain it. Again, we apologize for this experience and for any inconvenience this has caused.
Burt’s Bees remains committed to being ‘seriously natural’ and to you, our consumer. We will continue to provide you with safe and effective earth-friendly natural personal care products. Again, thank you for taking the time to share your experience with us. Your feedback is valuable in our efforts to continually improve the quality of our products.
Consumer CareBurt's Bees Inc.1-800-849-7112 option 4
Mon-Fri 10AM-4:30PM EST
***MY RESPONSE November 19/2008***
RE: Product inquiry for Beeswax Lip Balm
Friday, November 21, 2008 10:17 AM
From: "Sarah Bertrand" email@example.com
Thank you so much! I eagerly look forward to receiving your fabulous product in the mail! Bee minions? Not this time? Who will do my bidding?
lot code number 210801
As I was munching away at my sixth bag of the 100 calories treats, I thought, "Wouldn't it be great if Kraft revolutionized the world of treats and catered to her irresponsible alcoholic demographic? Wouldn't it be amazing if Kraft could raise the calories involved in the snacky equation to maybe 200, made the packages heat resistant and stuffed them with ramen noodles, pizza slices, nachos and cheese, battered chicken wings, fries, or a hamburger punched in the face with McDonald's spices?" I actually said all this outloud, to my cat. Don't judge me; I said I was drunk.In a world today where everyone is attempting to be more health conscious, and trying to lose weight with magic pills or bouts of depression, I implore you Kraft; why not rise to the occasion, and create a delicious treat that allows us who have guffawed in the face of sobriety to just pass out in the hallway with a happy tummy and a smile plastered on our drool soaked faces? I know you're all probably excited to get this new endeavour started, so I'll end this letter with a little hospitality, and a tip of my hat. I don't expect any retribution for planting the seed of your future best seller; all I demand is for the "Drunksations" to be displayed in a fancy and whimsical package, with my face proudly displayed on the front. I'll take some pictures tonight and send them to you so you can choose which ones you feel will be most appropriate.
I thank you for your time, and look forward to hearing from you immediately. I'll expect the first prototype in the mail within the week.
***REPLY: November 16/2008***
Sunday, November 16, 2008 3:41 PM
To: "firstname.lastname@example.org" email@example.com
Thank you for visiting http://www.innovatewithkraft.com/.
Thanks so much for taking the time to contact us with your suggestion. We're always delighted when people care enough about our products and packaging to offer their own creative ideas.As you might know, we have a new "unsolicited ideas" policy that allows Kraft to consider some types of ideas (mainly for new products and packaging innovations) submitted by consumers. However, our policy does not cover unsolicited ideas regarding: product line extensions, packaging changes, advertising, promotions and recipes ideas.So, those types of ideas are not sent along to our new "Innovations Team," who is responsible for analyzing unsolicited ideas under our new policy.But, we do want you to know that comments shared by our consumers can be very helpful to Kraft. Various Kraft teams do review comments such as yours, which help us identify consumer trends, preferences and needs.Again, we appreciate you contacting us and applaud both your creativity and loyalty.
If you haven’t done so already, please add our site to your favourites and visit us again soon!
November 22, 2008
My letter to Hasbro, the makers of the board game, "Sorry"
My name is Sarah Bertrand and I am 25. I am writing a letter of apology, for the board game that your company has spawned.
I'm "sorry" I ever purchased your desperate and unsuccessful grasp at proving you're still a legitimate source of quality entertainment for the gaming community; the board game, "Sorry".
Your commercial was a perfect example of everything that is wrong with this world today. It depicts a brat unabashedly demoralizing her family in her quest for victory. Even though I was apalled when I witnessed, this, I never thought I would have to worry about this venomous inexcusable behaviour from my daughter. So, somewhat hesitantly, I conceded against my better judgement. Allow me to set the scene for you, Hasbro. It's Friday night. I'm a single mother, home alone with my seven year old daughter Apple. I bring home a new game that I purchased at the local Wal Mart to surprise my daughter, and explain the regulations, and we commence playing. She informs me she's already seen a commercial for said board game, and knows how it works. I'm caught offguard, but not concerned because I know I raised my daughter right.
Long story short, my daughter began beating me at the game, knocked my gaming piece off my square and back a significant amount, looked at me with a smug grin, and sarcastically spat at me, "Sorry!" while rolling her eyes.
I was shocked. Mortified even. I threw the board off of the table, started spinning around and sobbing, and grounded my daughter until her birthday. In 2032. Now Hasbro, since up until that point I had only had a few drinks that night, I know I did not overreact. I believe that "Sorry" is singlehandedly responsible for teaching kids disrespect, belittling their elders, the recent collapse of the economy, and ruining the genuine and sincere foundation Canadian families have fought so hard to create in this day and age.
It made me question what kind of a mother I had been thus far if Apple could bring herself to speak to me in such a way, and moreso than anything else, it made me really want to give her something to be really "sorry" about. She hates to lose.. almost as much as I hate when my glass is empty, if you catch my drift. And in the end, when I broke that board game over my knee screamed at her that Santa wasn't real, everyone lost in my household, Mr. Hasbro. Everyone.
Hasbro, I'm sorry I ever purchased the game, sorry I ever ruined family time with this unimaginative tool of the devil, and I demand retribution.
I have enrolled myself in 12 weeks of parenting classes, at $300 per class, to see where it was that I went wrong. I believe it's necessary, and I am sure you'll find no issue with covering the cost. I also would appreciate a letter of apology to Apple and I, $29.95 plus applicable taxes for the cost of the game that I had to burn in a cleansing ritual in my backyard. In addition, a recommendation for a new, more genuine and less hurtful game. Something that preferably includes dinosaurs, and or bright colors and a thimble.
Thank you for your time and consideration, and I look forward to hearing from your representatives soon. "Sorry" if this was ill received; it was not my intention to ruffle feathers. I'm just a lonely, competitive, simple woman who has a fear of losing; games, money, or the respect of her family.
***REPLY: November 17/2008***
Consumer complaint to Hasbro, Inc. re: Sorry
Monday, November 17, 2008 11:42 AM
From: "Meehan, Christine"
Ms. Bertrand, your recent contact to Hasbro about your recent experience with our Sorry game has been forwarded to me for response. Unfortunately, I do not have a phone number for you. Please contact me at 1-800-242-7276, ext. 5625, to discuss at your convenience.
Office of Corporate Compliance
Dear Ontario Lottery and Gaming Corporation,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 25 year old aspiring professional archeologist that has a bone to pick with you. More specifically, whichever production company you hired to create a dangerous and harebrained commercial about “Bingo”, a seductive lottery game your corporation offers to the gambling public. Sir, I am no stranger to gambling. Why, everywhere I go it seems like someone is shouting the word “slot”, which I take to be in reference to the self evident gambling arm I have developed from playing those Lucky 7 bad boys. I am getting off track here, so I will continue with my original candid observations.
I happened to be in the exact grocery store the day you were filming said commercial, where a woman was seated at a table in the store and is playing Bingo. She wins, ends up extremely excited and everyone lives happily ever after. However, Mr. Lottery and Gaming Corporation, we both know this is not how it really went down. The woman was mumbling like a buffoon to herself while I can only assume is trying to provide herself with the necessary luck to come out on top in her Bingo endeavor. “Victory’s in line with G 59” and “... getting my four corners on...” were audible from her mentally unstable seat. Sir, if I may be completely honest with you, as I write this and reminisce on what I had to endure that afternoon, listening to that daft and dippy maniac, she made me want to paper cut her with the four corners of this here letter. She looked like a boastful lunatic spinning through the grocery store aisles, and her haphazard cartwheel was tacky and unacceptable. Also, as a former Olympic gymnast, I can add that it wasn’t even executed correctly. But I digress. I was angered by her inhibitions, as she appeared completely oblivious to her surroundings and her inappropriate behavior was highly offensive. Her voice, her personality, her face.. that fanatical fruitcake was as proud as a peacock. All I wanted that day were some Omega 3 enriched eggs, soy milk, fresh vegetables, blueberries, some beta carotene pills, pounds and pounds of battered chicken wings, and three boxes of laxatives, and instead I left with no groceries, shot nerves, and a broken heart. That vile temptress strutted around with a verbose demeanor and a cocky attitude, and I demand retribution. Sir, there are many layers to this onion.
On a personal note, since I was unable to purchase the laxatives my colon had become so accustomed to, the constipation has lead to severe issues and without getting into too many sordid, unflattering details, I am awaiting a colonoscopy. But Mr. Lottery and Gaming Corporation, I implore you.. I know that medicine is far more advances nowadays, but I wonder if this colonoscopy could actually remove the embarrassment and dismay from the depths of my bowels. And my heart.
While we’re continuing down the road of personal adversity and misfortune, since being consumed by this commercial I have been forced to acknowledge the demons in my closet.. and admit that I have a gambling problem. I have checked myself into a 12 step rehabilitation program, and the outcome looks promising, but I was much happier swimming through the pond of oblivion. I’d like for your company to handle the cost of the colonoscopy, as well as the Omega 3 enriched eggs, soy milk, fresh vegetables, blueberries, some beta carotene pills, pounds and pounds of battered chicken wings, and three boxes of laxatives, and I’d like my dignity back. I’d like a second Bingo commercial immediately produced and executed specifically how I dictate. All it will include is Fred Savage and two American Gladiators of your choice, although I prefer Crush and Wolf, to apologize on behalf of the Ontario Lottery and Gaming Corporation, and the health and safety hazardous schmo they decided to mistakenly hire. And somewhere towards the end, I’m going to need a dinosaur. Again, your pick. I think it would add the needed class everyone’s always talking about the Ontario Lottery and Gaming Corporation is missing.
Thank you so much for your time, and I look forward to your apology and subsequent presents
***REPLY: December 2/2008***
reply to your e-mail of November 8, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008 6:51 AM
From: "Wendy Butcher"
Thank you for contacting us with your concerns. I am sorry to hear of your situation and would be interested in speaking with you. I am available Monday to Friday from 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. You can reach me by calling collect at 705-946-6612.I look forward to hearing from you.
AssistantMarketing, Communications and Stakeholder Relations
Phone: 705-946-6612Fax: 705-946-6946
Dear Liddell Entertainment, more specifically, Mickey Liddell,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I'm a 25 year old with a zest for life and a passion for spooky shenanigans. I took my girlfriend to see your heinous and ungodly attention seeking transparent money hungry attempt at wooing the fright seeking Halloween crowd, and if it wasn't for the delicious mouthfuls of popcorn I was consuming until the bitter end, I believe I would have given up in my smelly movie theatre chair two rows from the front of the screen, where I sat at an awkward angel and ended my life.
You see, Mr. Liddell, the synopsis of the movie had such potential. It had mystique, creativity, and the morbid fascination factor. On a more intimate note, I related to it on a personal level, because when I was born, I too died on the bathroom floor and my parents too made a pact with the Devil, where he would consume my soul at the tender age of 18. Mr. Liddell, this is a story close to my heart, and although I appreciate your attempt at portraying it on the big screen, I think that better preparations could have been made and there should have been more attention to detail. For example, my name is not Molly Hartley. It's Sarah Bertrand, as stated above. Also, my house did not look like that, I never dated Chace Crawford, and my mother never tried to stab me with a pair of scissors; she tried to scare the Devil out of me by hiding in the pantry, and jumping out screaming, and bursting a balloon in my face. I didn't talk to her for three days, and needless to say I didn't die of fright, but I know that she really loves me, and I appreciate the fact that she tried to save me from my inevitable fate. Putting that aside, Robert Hartley was a great father who you could tell really loved his daughter but he was over it pretty quickly when Molly was responsible for her mother plummeting over the bannister to her death, landing on a pair of scissors that pierced her heart. Which not only makes me question Robert's morals, but also the laws of physics.
Mr. Liddell, I am a bright, punctual, salacious, classy broad that enjoys thought provoking cinematic experiences that enrich my life in some way, whether it's through an emotional journey, an inspirational song someone performs, or me slipping my delicate yet sticky fingers into the ladies' purse next to me and taking all the hard earned money I can grab.
Mr. Liddell, you are not the only one to blame. John Travis clearly panicked during the last twenty five minutes of production because he drew a blank as to how he could end this bumbling bijou, and decided that the best thing to do would to take a character we had sympathized with the entire film, who was kind, and who made me want to nurture her and caudle her to my bosom and tell her everything was going to be ok, that those horrible visions of her mother would cease and she'd eventually stop getting locked in her bathroom and have the water stop running by itself and stop hearing those voices that called her name and stop getting nose bleeds and stop having panic attacks... *inhales deeply* and turn her into a raging insensitive brutish nincompoop harlot. I was down in the dumps, and one might say lost in a blue funk. My heart was heavy, with sadness and with guilt, wondering what I could have done more to prevent Molly from spiralling into the demonic abyss that inevitably became her fate.
Personal feelings aside, we need to discuss retribution. I'd appreciate $12.00 plus applicable taxes for the ticket I purchased, as well as $11.95 plus applicable taxes for the combo I needed to calm my nerves, and cure my boredom. I also had hoped that this went without saying, but I expect that as noble expression to the importance of your fans, fickle and otherwise, I'd have a major motion picture created based on my life as an aspiring journalist/poltergeist, and we could call it, The Jurassic Adventures of Sarah Bertrand. In A Park. We could find Jeff Goldblum to be my romantic interest, and Sarah Michelle Gellar could dress up like a dinosaur. I'd like to convene and discuss further business. Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing back from you personally. Have a great weekend, and Happy Halloween!
Dear Royal Ontario Museum,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I'm a fragile yet determined woman with a destiny that involves dinosaurs. Discovering them again, taming them, and one day writing a major motion picture that involves them somehow. Since it's never been done before, I'm working on copywriting a name.. so far, I'm thinking, Sarah Bertrand Park. Or, The Jurassic Adventures of Sarah Bertrand. In A Park.
Anyhow, the reason I'm writing you this letter is to bring your attention to an issue that has been plaguing me for countless, sleepless hours. Last night I decided to combat the monotony of my life, I was going to venture to the Royal Ontario Museum for a magical and educational experience. I was shocked, dismayed, disgusted, appalled, and heartbroken at what a lunchbag letdown the experience truly was. I left feeling dejected, melancholy, embarrassed, bamboozled, and defeated, for the Royal Ontario Museum's sub par renovations did not justify the inflated prices.
My acquaintance Nadia Umadat and I had a query regarding the current status on the Royal Ontario Museum's Planetarium, and we asked staff at The Royal Ontario Museum and we were laughed at, and I truly feel in the cockles of my heart that we were mocked. We were also told The Planetarium was to be destroyed in the near future because the Royal Ontario Museum could not keep up with the Science Center, so needless to say as a result of that newfound information I was left feeling bewildered, discombobulated, distressed, and flustered. I sobbed for hours until I came to the conclusion that this was completely unacceptable, and as a patron to the Royal Ontario Museum for years, I would appreciate if this situation is immediately rectified. I would expect nothing less than a written apology from the esteemed Board of Directors, and compensation for my $11 ticket I purchased last night. If the Royal Ontario Museum has a time machine housed in the basement I'd also appreciate if you could give me back the time I frittered away last night that could have been spent doing other more productive things. Like scavenging for dinosaur remnants, sorting through old stamps, finding new concoctions to use in my sandwich maker, pairing lonely socks, and throwing out expired yogurt. I am sure this letter will be received and treated with all the legitimacy and genuine concern of a lady with big dreams and a broken heart.
Thank you for your time. I look forward to a response.
Sarah "The Dinosaur Whisperer" Bertrand
***REPLY: November 20/2008***
From: "General Inquiries" To: firstname.lastname@example.org "Visit to the ROM"; "email@example.com"
Good day Sarah,
Please be advised that we have received your correspondence and we will be sending your $11 refund to the home address at: You should receive this next week.
***UPDATE: Received a cheque for $11.00 in the mail***