Grand Wizard Jefferson Davis Holbrook writes to Keebler (2003):
| To whoever is in charge,|
I have been a loyal purchaser of y'all's products since the very first E.L. Fudge cookies came out and got me hooked. You make a fine product and I'm partial to the E.L. Fudge Double Stuffed cookies. They got just the right balance of fudge and cookie and they dunk really well in milk.
Only problem now is these ads you been running. I enjoyed the elf ads and I took them for what they was: an affirmation of the white race and its superiority. Now y'all got the elves as side characters and you got little nigglets sitting around with a white and an Asian just dunkin' away with your cookies. I was actually eating on one of your cookies when the ad came on and I darn near choked.
What I got to know is, if y'all want me to continue buying your cookies, is just how committed is Keebler to furthering and protecting the white race? Give it as a percentage where not letting niggers buy your cookies would be a 100% and adding a mixed-race elf is 0%. And bring back the damn elves properly.
Keep up the good work otherwise!
Jefferson Davis Holbrook
President Lincoln expresses displeasure to Worchester Tinctures Amalgamated (1864):
|I was grateful to receive a collection of Worchester branded beard tonics and relaxing unguents as a gift from Mrs. Adelaide Montague, whom an observant man will immediately recognize as the fair wife of Senator Charles C. Montague of Rhode Island.|
Though Mr. Montague is coarse and impolite his wife is a well-spoken lady of excellent stock and sensibility who wholly supports the emancipation of slavery. I was therefore predisposed to appreciate her gift and was delighted at the thought of massaging creams into my beard to improve both luster and body.
I was given to believe that the sundry products of your company were of the highest quality and safety. This was a position founded on your reputation alone, for I had not till recently availed myself of your services. Now that I have, I can say with certainty that I might as easily stand aside and watch this nation be sundered by the forces of sedition as enjoy your product again.
Immediately I was vexed by the corks you have employed to seal the contents of each vial, for once removed they are nearly impossible to replace. Such an inconvenience seems trivial compared to the horror visited upon my face by the creams themselves. From astringent to conditioner they all gave off an unpleasant smell. It was an odor less medicinal than that of spoiled meat. I should have been warned, but cowardice has never been an accusation heaped at my doorstep.
The immediate stinging was but one facet of the unpleasant sensations I experienced. As time passed and my beard did not seem to change I began to notice itching welts appearing beneath the hairs on my chin. These welts gnawed and throbbed with pain, forcing me to contort myself and writhe on my sickbed. Over the course of a day they became boils, glistening with infections untreatable by my physician.
When these boils at last gave up their contents and my chin became raw and scabrous, I noticed in my bedside mirror that much of the hair I had been assured by the packaging would be 'pampered to perfection' had instead fallen out or been torn away by my itching. That pocked visage that gazed back at me was all the reason I required to put pen to paper and formulate the letter you are now reading.
Prepare yourself, Worchester. In times of war men and their endeavors must make sacrifices. It just so happens that I am in great need of a factory to process the guano of pigeons into powdered cartridges. I will assume your compliance in advance, and send a top engineer riding a day behind this letter. I am sure he will prove indispensible for you as you convert your facilities to harvesting the ablutions of pigeons.
You are no doubt already more than familiar with the properties of pigeon shit.
Negative eBay feedback left by Porn Star Belladonna (2006):
The guns are gone. Now what happens to all those paper targets? Don't tell me you forgot about the paper targets. The ones hanging from little clips on fancy clotheslines at shooting ranges. With no guns to destroy these legions of paper bastards, they go unchecked.
Grimy horror growler Rob Zombie's scariest music videos finally ranked to warn your children.
A sign proclaiming "BACTA: DA FUTURE" marks the town's medical clinic
1998: I upload dave.pcx, and change the course of history
Set goals for yourself, and fulfill them. Absurd! Only in video games!
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