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!