Dear Sarah:

There is no guarantee that you will live longer if you avoid Sidecar, Marlboro Lights and Taco Bueno.

It will only seem longer.

And if it takes years off your life, so what? It's the last years, the ones where you spend half your time in the hospital and the other half trying to decipher that last letter from Medicare. How much do you think you're going to miss that?

There's nothing wrong with trying to lead a "sensible" existence. But fercrissake, don't beat yourself over the head for occasionally behaving like a real person once in a while.

If this catches on — well, read it yourself:

(Note: Not this Philip Nolan. Via Tinkerty Tonk.)

When you close your checking account, you cannot continue to use the debit card associated with it.

I realize that this is a difficult concept for you, but focus.

(And next time, go to the farging 7-Eleven and buy a money order, fercrissake.)

Sent by me this morning to support at infermed.com:

Regular readers will note that this is a kinder, gentler treatment than that which I would actually prefer.

Losing a 623-page report does not make you look more intelligent.

Requesting a second copy of that 623-page report — even though you were already sent the same data in electronic form in addition to said report — well, the rest of the world can figure it out, even if you can't.

News Item: Mayor Bloomberg is meeting with Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice to urge her to help keep the United Nations in New York City. The United Nations is looking for a temporary home while its historic headquarters overlooking the East River get a $1.2 billion renovation, but there has been speculation the world body might look for a permanent home elsewhere.

Dear Madame Secretary:

You might point out to the UN types that real estate in New York City is expensive and becoming more so, and inasmuch as the UN has consistently maintained that global warming is a fact, presenting the possibility that in not too many years Manhattan might be flooded, the organization would be wise to look for that alternate headquarters. Given its priorities in recent years, I suggest the West Bank of the river Jordan.

Oh, by the way: love the burgundy suit.

(Suggested by Al Maviva.)

Note to [name of security-software vendor redacted]: Yes, I probably will renew my subscription after the next year; I am not at this time dissatisfied with your product. But no, I'm not going to let you automatically resubscribe me at that time and charge me whatever the going rate might be, and I resent your making this the default. I should not have to go to a second (and then a third) screen, then retype all the same damned information including the product key, just to prevent automatic billing. It's not like you're going to forget to nag me every two weeks for the last three months of the subscription term or anything.

(No, I didn't mention their name. But their initials are C.A.)

Mike Duncan
Republican National Committee
310 First Street SE
Washington, DC 20003

Dear Mr. Duncan:

Thank you for your kind letter and invitation to participate in your "GOP Census." I must point out, however, that inasmuch as I am not a registered Republican, the "Dear Fellow Republican" salutation notwithstanding, it might be inappropriate for me to respond positively at this time.

Sincerely,

CGHill

Dear Sheryl:

Nope. Not even with two-ply.

At least you can't say I didn't try.

Offhandedly,
CGHill

Dear Mr. Cleaver:

Lorem Ipsum was not available for comment.

(Via Jason Toon.)

Something called Cavalry Portfolio Services, a collection agency with delusions of grandeur, left a message on my machine today for somebody who isn't here and never has been: I assume they saw a similar name in the phone book and decided that yes, this is the woman we're looking for.

And their pitch was one I hadn't heard before: "If you are not [debtor's name] you must hang up." Pause. "By continuing to listen to this call you acknowledge that you are in fact [debtor's name]."

On the off-chance that they might Google themselves:

Dear Cavalry: By reading this article you acknowledge that (1) you are complete and utter tools and (2) you are expected to remit one thousand dollars ($1,000) by cashier's check or money order to me at my address, in partial compensation for wasting my time and for assuming that your feeble excuse for skip tracing somehow equates to actual identification.

I am not a lawyer, nor do I play one on TV, and it's been almost a month since the last time I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express, but I believe this is every bit as enforceable as the crap they put out over the phone.

So you carefully divided your order into two different segments and proffered a different credit card for each, reasoning that you were close to being maxed out, but you could still slide this in under the wire.

What are you going to do now that both your cards were declined?

(This isn't exactly the most unheard-of thing I ever heard of, but people who pull stunts like this should be sent to Gitmo and stuffed under the sofa.)

"Well, yeah, maybe you can string a couple of sentences together long enough for the snark to coalesce," I hear you say, "but how do you handle actual business correspondence?"

Generally, somewhat like this.

Dear John Hawkins:

If I send you a list of my blog crushes, is there any chance that you'll get around to interviewing them? Besides the ones you've already done, I mean.

Um, no, I never read Tiger Beat. Why do you ask?

Sincerely,

CGH

Dear Mail-Order Pharmacy:

I placed a refill order from your Web site — which means, I shouldn't have to point out, that you've filled this prescription at least once already — and paid for it with a Visa card, which means you're not waiting on your money.

Did it occur to you that calling me on the phone half an hour after the order was placed to try to talk me into some cheaper drug was incredibly frakking stupid? It certainly occurred to me. "How I can save up to $500 a year," my ass. I paid your absurd five-times-the-price-of-generic copay because this stuff works and there are no generics. Simple as that. Ninety days from now, I'll be happily paying six times the price, just so I don't get any more phone calls from you addlepated schmucks.

In the meantime, three words you should learn: "dispense as written."