Dear Swiftcover Insurance, and by extension, Iggy Pop

Swiftcover, the madness must stop.

When I’m watching television, every time the scheduled programing ends, there’s Iggy Pop, angry and shouting about insurance.

Swiftcover, no matter how much ad-time you’ve purchased, it won’t make your insurance products any more interesting to the general public.

Why do you believe a gaunt, sinewy rock star that resembles a breast-less Wicked Witch of the West is the best possible face for your company? Your company is not that rebellious or it wouldn’t be turning a profit.

You’d be better off having the gnarled wreckage of  car with the spongy crimson remains of a driver hanging out of it with bottle of Jack Daniels in one barely-attached hand as a spokesthing. The wails of the family choking to death on each other’s vomited blood in a crushed minivan opposite would be preferable to hearing Iggy Pop utter, “It’s time to r-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-d-d-d-d-e” ever again.

Just so you know…

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

Dear Letting Agents, You Corrupt, Slime-Mongering Vampires

Repent for your sins!

With the credit crunch forcing cash-strapped Britons to abandon ownership of their shoebox-sized homes for actual shoe boxes, nobody is happier than you, the stygian-souled Letting Agent.

“Wait,” you say. “I provide an essential service that assists both inept landlords and overwhelmed tenants navigate the all-too tasking world of property lettings.”

Ha. What wretched things you must imagine while you pleasure yourself to sleep on a huge pile of your victims’ sorrow.

I’ll always remember the way “Bruce” showed me around the “suite” mentioning the extra-environmental heating system, the new coat of paint, the brand new furnishings… then casually mentioning the small matter of the agency fee: £240… for 15 minutes of “work.” Ah, that’s how you can afford that new BMW.

It should provide me a bit of solace to think that a few people are profiting off the misfortune of others… but it doesn’t.

Cheers,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

Dear Luluemon Chris

Thanks for the response to my previous letter, which follows:

“this is pure loser talk. spend the time you spend hating on everything, and go get something for yourself!”

It’s obvious you are a sweetheart, so I’ll kindly respond with a few things:

I’m assuming the advice you have graciously provided is coming from a position of experience. I’m assuming you consider yourself a winner. I’m assuming you spend your time not “hating on everything.” I’m assuming you use that time to “go get something for yourself!”

Note: I’m well aware “assuming” makes “asses of you and me.”

That said, I’m sort of confused about the general spirit it was written.

“go get something for yourself”

What does that mean exactly? A glass of water? A large TV? An $82 T-shirt claiming to utilize seaweed to absorb sweat yet does NOT actually contain seaweed? How ’bout a state of enlightened state of nirvana that is free from the burdensome trappings of modern consumer culture.

Note: Yoga does not require an $82 T-Shirt nor seamless pants.

“this is pure loser talk”

First, this is pure loser writing. There is a difference.

Secondly, there is safety in numbers and there will always be more losers than winners. I like that.

Besides, without losers there would be no one to envy you and your winner comrades in your yoga loft engaging in an endless circle jerk to end all circle jerks.

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

PS: Words beginning sentences require capitalization. I know you know where the shift key is because you used an exclamation point at the end of your sentence.

PPS: You are a douche.

PPPS: Seriously.

PPPPS: I don’t have anything against circle jerks or yoga even… Just stupidity.

PPPPPS: I think you are stupid.

PPPPPPS: No. Seriously.

Dear Lululemon “Manifesto”

Recently, a bag told me what to do and what to think. I thought it made some ballsy assertions. Though this is obviously a “wall poster,” one can purchase the same misguided philosophy on a “shoulder bag.”

1. Do one thing a day that scares you.

I just tried crack. Does that count? I had to go to a really freaky part of town to buy it.

2. Jealousy works the opposite way you want it to.

What does this even mean? Never end your sentences with a preposition.

3. Life is full of set backs. Success is determined by how you handle setbacks.

This is basically a description of basic economics re-interpreted through the eyes of a new-age marketing department. A sports company could put “the best way to win a game is to score more goals than your opponent” onto their bags. But even hockey players know better.

Here’s some mental jujitsu for you:

4. Don’t trust that an old-age pension will be sufficient. 

Damn right, especially if I’m buying clothes at Lululemon. I better start working 24/7 and my job is so stressful…

5. Stress is related to 99% of illness.

The highly trained medical staff (even the people who take out the garbage at Lululemon have extensive scientific credentials. It’s a little known fact those “yoga studios” are top shelf medical research facilities.) have changed my life! I’m going to quit my job that is obviously conspiring to end my life to do yoga all day. Which will be easy because…

6. Friends are more important than money.

I get it now. I just need to pour my hot bum into a pair of seamless yoga pants and get somebody wealthy enough to pay my way through life. Live Lulu!

7. Listen, listen, listen, and then ask strategic questions.  

Having heard, heard, heard, I’ll ask this question: “Do you actually believe this crap?”

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

To the Quiet Broken Fridge

Soon our time will be over. Today, someone suggested I carry you out of here by myself. I politely explained it would too great a task and I would need help. Then I said, “I’ll only be able to do it is if it is in parts.”

I was serious. There is a hammer in the hallway.

The kitchen looks like you vomited all over it. There is a crummy feeling where the good used to be. Everything went bad when you walked away from our relationship. The kitchen stinks and I think you are a douche bag. Ruiner!

I’ll never trust your kind ever again. I should have known better. It’s not like your type hasn’t given up on me before. I naively thought you were better than that. I naively thought you were committed.

Though I hate to admit it, I’m finding it extremely difficult to live without you in my life. But don’t think for a minute that I can’t manage to survive without you. The bitter taste of your betrayal keeps me going.

Sooner or later I’m going to need to eat. That will force me to clean the kitchen…I’ll feel bad all over.

Why?! Why have you done this to me?

Sincerely,

Fergis

PS: I wish I could quit you.

To Ann Coulter

ann-big.jpg

You don’t have to be this way. I know I hurt you, but I was young. The truth is, you were boring. The constant drum circles and mushroom trips were interesting at first, but it was all you ever wanted to do. Plus, you never showered and that one big dreadlock smelled horrid. But you didn’t need to turn into a hate-mongering xenophobe just to impress me. I’d rather you bought me a puppy or ice cream. Perhaps you could have chanelled your frustration into a painting or prose-poetry.

I guess you’ve found success. I understand that you sell thousands of books to misguided individuals searching for somebody that hates other people more than they hate themselves. That’s fine. I hope you’re happy with yourself. But I won’t take you back. Ever.

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

Open letter to the Canadian Post Office

Hello,

You conduct some shady business practices. First, I pay you for forwarding my mail to my new address. You hold my mail for weeks without delivery. Then you leave a note saying where I can find my time-sensitive package–at a post office several blocks away. Secondly, when I get there, you tell me I owe more money–$11.85! Assholes! Finally, when I get home, there’s another note that I can’t possibly decipher. The sender’s name is on top of my address! What does that mean!?

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy