Dear Union Bank Philippines,
The last time I wrote an open letter I’s livid with an ex-girlfriend. But I made it sound like fun though, which is not cool ‘coz when that last time I sounded off fun and livid, many people in Neverland died, with their tongues gnashed between their teeth. Okay, you get the picture.
See it’s not good when I sit down to write one of those letters. And it’s for you Union Blank Philippines!
Right, I'm a pissed off consumer. And friends have known me as a very evil man to get pissed off with.
I know you sometimes suck, get fucked up and all that, YawnYawn Bank Philippines. But you've something many of us internet writers need: an EON card. So I cannot but have to take the trouble to know whether you really suck or not. And besides, I no longer have any money left except my savings on PayPal. So, you see, I went to your branch in SM Cebu almost a month ago. I actually waited for my turn to speak with your representative who sat indifferently on his chair, and talk to me as if he owns the bank. I presented him with the requirements, filled up the form, and again waited for your representative to tell me that everything is in order, and that I now have to wait for some days to get the card.
And told me he did. But not after taxing my patience because he seemed to have more important matters to attend to, a chitchat with officemates, talking about their lunch or something, show how gay he is in the office or something. But I forgive him for that. I need the EON card. He told me to get the card after three weeks. He passed me a paper with a landline number, the bank landline number: (032) 232-0680. Call us after three weeks, he said.
Said weeks expired…
I called you. After four rings, the now familiar voice answered and I asked him if the EON card is available for pick up. But fucking retardity ensues,
“You say you applied three weeks ago, and your name again?” Said (let’s just call him) GayTard.
“It’s Jonas Perida, Sir (GayTard). P-E-R-I-D-A…”
“Okay. A moment please... Your card is not available yet, Mr. Perida. You can call us back anytime this week.”
“What do you mean? Can you be more specific, Sir (GayTard)? Is there any problem with my requirements or something?”
“I can't answer you that. Just call us again tomorrow if you like.”
So the next day, I called you back, OnYawn Blank Philippines. And that the same fucking retarded conversation with the GayTard reissued. Then after a weekend, another representative listened to my concern yet still no definite answer. And it’s simply killing me because it happened many times too many, and then for cripessakes some more in the following days.
With my budget dwindling nicely, my lividness grows intensely. So don’t blame me for my uncool habits to fight off damned shenanigans and fucktardity. Or as how you’ve treated me, and probably many others like me.
Yet again, these are bad economic times. And I get it too. So I am giving you some more time to work things out between us, your poor consumer/s, and you fucking Union Bank Philippines you!
Will call you again later (I’m talking to you, Sir GayTard). And may probably blog the progress of this shit.
Wishing you now more success, Union Bank Philippines!
Lividly yours,
Jonas
Showing posts with label Open Letters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Open Letters. Show all posts
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
My Open Post Break Up Letter To Lily Gaga
Dear Lily Gaga,
Yeah, right, we had it hard. I had it so hard myself I almost knocked off that guy
you dispatched to fetch your things from my place. He was bigger than me, I know, but I imagined knocking him off with one of the empty bottles in my room. And, umm, well, you are right too. I handled it too badly. And I think I am sorry. Now allow me to explain.
I am aware some people got envy when they saw us together. And we simply look great on Friendster. But by judging us together by appearances and the number of envious emails from your Friendster friends are enough reasons to stay in a relationship, right? Wrong. You see, a relationship is more than just that. There is also called chemistry, not your usual high-school chemistry stuff, which you once got crazy about.
Yet believe me, Ly-darling you, writing this letter is far easier than rescuing our dying relationship. I gave it a chance, tried to make things work, and even followed my mother’s good counsel to just love you. That I can’t find someone like you: so wonderful and, as she once said, almost perfect. Well, I tried, honestly tried, and yet failed, utterly failed. I must have missed something and got no idea what, or why.
Like during Sinulog, you became quite jumpy and not yourself when some television celebrities passed our way. One celebrity was throwing kisses to the crowd-mostly-howling-girls-yet-to-get-laid. I was busy fixing the gin and lime drinks and being careful not to get them spilled. When I looked up I saw you catching those thrown kisses like the other girls and swallowing them like chorizo balls, strings and all. That is, in front of me and few other unimpressed men in the crowd. I did not see the point of it, or pretend not to see the point and I was embarrassed. I know and understand what blood can do to jumpy-little-girls when they saw Dingdong or other actor passing by and blowing kisses, and them girls passing out. Well, it might have been required, a commonplace spectacle, or something in this third world country we called the Philippines. I am not sure and I don’t really care anyway. But I almost puked when that continued for some minutes and laughed some gin-aided later. It was a very hot afternoon and I was drinking my gin on that huge elevated platform especially made for the government people. I wonder how much it cost for only a day use while I saw lots of poor people below us evidently suffering from hunger and thirst. But let’s get back to this love-lost letter for you.
Now please know that I never hate you or anything. You are a great woman and you have equally great attributes. But another man who has similar greatness and attributes like you possess would simply have clicked with you. I am not that man.
Of course, you are very sweet and know it, and quite anxious to show that off especially when there are other girls around. There’s nothing wrong with that really and it amused me when you are like that. But I need a girl with more than just mere sweetness. I need someone who knows when to apply, or break, the imaginary rule of propriety, or impropriety, and can hold her own when we are mingling with other people.
Finally, allow me now to just tell you that there is no other woman as you may have now assumed. I just imagine it would have been much easier if there is one. Sadly, I haven’t found anyone yet better than you. I mean, you cook well, you are thoughtful, you are a good Friendster hacker and, as far as I know, you have no bad intention of ever owning their private profiles, so long as those people at Friendster don’t pissed you off as you once warned me. But darling, is that the best we could come up with after having been together, for what, 7 years? Not to count that year when I was too busy with studies and you were dating with some other guys you met somewhere.
Well, I’m sorry, Lynnimickens, like the others too, this blogger also still believes in a little something called Love.
As usual, I am not too sure now. Maybe it’s just me, preferring a bottle and fighting my own demons in my room than having your company and fighting your own demons as well as mine. Or it can be that I am not too disposed to love. That could be true too. Yet I believe there’s some hope that the right one for me will come my way someday. I am that hopeless romantic and I am miserably cursed.
Bid you now fair winds Dear-Ly-Gagafinesse. I’ll think well of you from now on.
Love lots and lost,
Jonas
P.S. Please be kind to tell that guy to stop texting me, I am not interested. And besides, I’ve enough stalkers already and going through the process of issuing him, and the others, a restraining order is not fun. Hope you understand. Thanks a lot.
Yeah, right, we had it hard. I had it so hard myself I almost knocked off that guy
you dispatched to fetch your things from my place. He was bigger than me, I know, but I imagined knocking him off with one of the empty bottles in my room. And, umm, well, you are right too. I handled it too badly. And I think I am sorry. Now allow me to explain.I am aware some people got envy when they saw us together. And we simply look great on Friendster. But by judging us together by appearances and the number of envious emails from your Friendster friends are enough reasons to stay in a relationship, right? Wrong. You see, a relationship is more than just that. There is also called chemistry, not your usual high-school chemistry stuff, which you once got crazy about.
Yet believe me, Ly-darling you, writing this letter is far easier than rescuing our dying relationship. I gave it a chance, tried to make things work, and even followed my mother’s good counsel to just love you. That I can’t find someone like you: so wonderful and, as she once said, almost perfect. Well, I tried, honestly tried, and yet failed, utterly failed. I must have missed something and got no idea what, or why.
Like during Sinulog, you became quite jumpy and not yourself when some television celebrities passed our way. One celebrity was throwing kisses to the crowd-mostly-howling-girls-yet-to-get-laid. I was busy fixing the gin and lime drinks and being careful not to get them spilled. When I looked up I saw you catching those thrown kisses like the other girls and swallowing them like chorizo balls, strings and all. That is, in front of me and few other unimpressed men in the crowd. I did not see the point of it, or pretend not to see the point and I was embarrassed. I know and understand what blood can do to jumpy-little-girls when they saw Dingdong or other actor passing by and blowing kisses, and them girls passing out. Well, it might have been required, a commonplace spectacle, or something in this third world country we called the Philippines. I am not sure and I don’t really care anyway. But I almost puked when that continued for some minutes and laughed some gin-aided later. It was a very hot afternoon and I was drinking my gin on that huge elevated platform especially made for the government people. I wonder how much it cost for only a day use while I saw lots of poor people below us evidently suffering from hunger and thirst. But let’s get back to this love-lost letter for you.
Now please know that I never hate you or anything. You are a great woman and you have equally great attributes. But another man who has similar greatness and attributes like you possess would simply have clicked with you. I am not that man.
Of course, you are very sweet and know it, and quite anxious to show that off especially when there are other girls around. There’s nothing wrong with that really and it amused me when you are like that. But I need a girl with more than just mere sweetness. I need someone who knows when to apply, or break, the imaginary rule of propriety, or impropriety, and can hold her own when we are mingling with other people.
Finally, allow me now to just tell you that there is no other woman as you may have now assumed. I just imagine it would have been much easier if there is one. Sadly, I haven’t found anyone yet better than you. I mean, you cook well, you are thoughtful, you are a good Friendster hacker and, as far as I know, you have no bad intention of ever owning their private profiles, so long as those people at Friendster don’t pissed you off as you once warned me. But darling, is that the best we could come up with after having been together, for what, 7 years? Not to count that year when I was too busy with studies and you were dating with some other guys you met somewhere.
Well, I’m sorry, Lynnimickens, like the others too, this blogger also still believes in a little something called Love.
As usual, I am not too sure now. Maybe it’s just me, preferring a bottle and fighting my own demons in my room than having your company and fighting your own demons as well as mine. Or it can be that I am not too disposed to love. That could be true too. Yet I believe there’s some hope that the right one for me will come my way someday. I am that hopeless romantic and I am miserably cursed.
Bid you now fair winds Dear-Ly-Gagafinesse. I’ll think well of you from now on.
Love lots and lost,
Jonas
P.S. Please be kind to tell that guy to stop texting me, I am not interested. And besides, I’ve enough stalkers already and going through the process of issuing him, and the others, a restraining order is not fun. Hope you understand. Thanks a lot.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
A Letter of Response to the Open Letter to myself… from myself
Dear myself [whatever],I have read the letter for the nth time and several things occur to me. And I decided to three things only to exemplify the nature of this response.
First.You.Are.An.Idiot.
Second. You are nothing but just an ultramicroscopic pigment of my ass.
Third.Shut.The.Fuck.Up.
Love,
Jonas
P.S. Don’t ever mention mother again in any of your retardistic tendencies. I’ll not choke you, squash you or lock you up with a stinking old woman. You’re not worth a dime for that. You don’t even deserve the seventh circle of hell but far worst greater than what you can think of, imbecile. That is if you’ve got enough brains to think a step farther than what you so far done in your writing a letter for me like that. Next time I hear from you again I’ll condemn as you hopelessly are - a not a dime's worth petty retard .
P. P. S. You hopeless retarded. You even managed to induce a woman in FilipinoWriter.com to comment by making your letter not to look like crap. But it still stinks of crappiness idiot! Even your reply smells like a shoddy shit. You ungrateful brainfarter. You claimed to be myself and yet couldn’t even follow one best attribute I can really call my own, that is, saying ‘thank you’. What did you reply to that good woman? It clear is sloppy bullshit! You even mentioned again mother’s name. What’s that… oh, I give up…
Oh wait, maybe I’ll not, I can play along in your own flippest flippancy way, you next to nothing dim-witted fucker. But the first time you slip and mention again one of my root-words, beware..’
You too is warned.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
