Dear Yahoo.
I have a small complaint I wish to make against your company, bastion of internet innovation that it is. I recently tried to download software in order to use Yahoo music. I ran it. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Then, disaster struck. The program crashed, and, for some unaccountable reason which almost certainly has everything to do with you, each and every single music file I’ve downloaded over the past eighteen months has been rendered completely unplayable, transformed into so much junk coding in the blink of an eye.
Now, let’s not mince words. I fucking hate you fucking people more than vampires hate carpentry, Osama Bin Laden hates wet T-shirt contests, and Baby Jesus hates you when you masturbate. You technically inept, grossly incompetent, imbecilic, cretinous, gormless, wastes of fucking bone and sinew, I want to hunt each and every one of you maggoty little cock suckers down, rip off your heads and extract your fucking souls. From the lowliest code monkey to the fattest, sweatiest, most lecherous of your CEO’s, I want to make lampshades out of your fucking skin. I want to shit on your defiled corpses and burn them. I want all this even more than I want my fucking music back.
Your company name is an internet byword for clumsiness and idiocy. From your shitty, shitty web browser which doesn’t even allow you to open new windows, to your diabolical e-mail service wherein every account seemingly acts as some kind of digital magnet for every Trojan, 419 fraudster, and double-ended suck-fuck porn spammer in cyberspace, your lack of appreciation for such trivialities as usability, convenience, or safety is plain for all to see.
I write this e-mail, not for the purpose of venting my ample spleen, nor even for the purpose of gaining recompense *(the slightest hope for the latter being laughable in the face of a company which evidently hires acephalic fetal halfbirths to code and maintain their products and surely wouldn’t go so far as to pay for actual sentient life forms to provide customer care.) * I write in the hope you heartless dumb fucks print this out, hold it aloft at your next latex-fetish tea party (or board meeting, whatever) as an example of the kind of customer service whichever demon you sold your souls to demands, and get so pumped up on your own sadism that you finally get around to changing the Yahoo logo design from a load of big, friendly bubble writing, to a guy getting fucked up the ass, mercilessly, and forever. If you want, I’ll even send you a picture so you can animate a suitably helpless looking ‘bitch’ in my image. At that point, bereft of your user-friendly corporate countenance, enough consumers will boycott your services long enough and hard enough to send you tumbling all the way down to the Moss Side, Manchester, where you can spend your days panhandling for loose change or taking gelatinous loads on the chin from shady Asiatic businessmen and junked up smack dealers tricks like every other two bit conman and whore in this country.
You people are wastes of good oxygen that could have been put to better use fuelling a Christmas fire at an orphanage, or perhaps transporting plague. Karmic justice could only be fulfilled by your being burned at a stake with your own filthy money used as kindling, and your ashes shot into space so as not to befoul the ecosystem.
Regards,
George Kaplin.
