Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Your Double Choc Chip Buttercake Destroyed my Family

Dear Mr. Woolworth,

Greetings. Though we have not yet officially made one another’s acquaintance, my loyal frequenting to your residence in Preston affords us a certain familiarity with one another’s intimate habits and idiosyncrasies, the kind usually reserved for family. And as I write to you, I still consider our relationship primarily to be one of brothers as opposed to one of business. My family enjoys daily your fresh baked products, and my eldest son, Wooly, even carries your name! (Christ, Woolworth, my kid was most likely conceived in your parking lot!)

Thus, I assure you, it is following much hesitation and great contemplation that I write to you regarding the Double Choc Chip Buttercake purchased from you on Sunday, November 22, 2009, at 2:16pm.

For $4.97, it certainly did seem to be special! At prices so low, one could be tempted to label the manager “special” (that is retarded, or at least hypo-tarded); for how could a regular gent give his bakehouse items away at these rates and still afford to pay his employees an honourable wage? I was ever so close to the purchase of two of these tasty treats, you devil! But, at 480grams, I carefully calculated, considered and decided against the purchase of a second lest gluttony get my family into further trouble.

You see, Woolworth, we were to be celebrating Lurleen’s release from the detox and rehab unit at Galliamble. Such a festive occasion happens only every few years. Lurleen’s most recent triumph over a powerful, cough syrupy agent certainly warranted the pomp and circumstance of cake. And, your establishment being the one of first choice in our family, I quickly gathered the seven of us into the Ute before shooting over to Preston’s bustling shopping-district store.
Your classic choc buttercake was selected for several reasons:
1-The aforementioned price, perhaps set by retards, or hypo-tards
2-The guarantee which labelled the cake to be” full of choc chip pieces”
3-The nostalgic and titular label of, “Classic,” which is always a selling point in our family
4-The quality assurance stamp... your store in our has been known as the Safe Way
5-Wooly, the favourite kid, chose it

Over the next few hours, while patiently awaiting Lurleen’s probation officer to finish debriefing, we salivated over your bakehouse Double Choc Chip Buttercake, which promised to be classic choc buttercake full of choc chip pieces. We gathered around and little Wooly read aloud the ingredients, savouring in each delicate, vital part of the whole. A debate sparked when mention of the ingredients Emulsifiers 322 Soy Lecithin, Raising Agents 500, 341, 450, and Whipping Agent 471 were questioned. What were they? Chinese, no doubt. Or, if not Chinese, might they have come from some other land of numbers? Did robots rule this magical land, and, if so, was their king a good king? We went on and on like this until the officer dropped Lurleen off, which promptly ended debate and started the family into a side-splitting version of “For he’s a Jolly-Good Fellow,” where we replace certain words to the tune and sing, “For She’s a Jolly Good Alco...let’s hope she doesn’t get high, hey!”

Lurleen blew out a candle and lit a cigarette, and then gave a speech where she pretended to hate us. We calmed her down and Wooly got a knife, several plates, and some forks.

I watched the favoured child, Wooly, attempt to slice the classic choc buttercake full of choc chip pieces. I instructed him to carefully follow the serving size suggestion, whereby he would cut the cake into 1/8ths. TO MY AMAZEMENT, THE CAKE CRUMBLED before my very eyes. I smacked him one and told him to be careful. But, alas, it was of no use. Crumble, crumble, crumble. Furthermore, my less liked children saw the whole debacle unfold. I don’t know where you come from, Woolworth, but I do not consider crumble to be part of anything CLASSIC!

The youngest of my progeny may not have noticed, and, sure, the elders would have had their memory wiped from the sheer shock of the experience. But the majority of us saw the whole affair.

Wooly, greatly ashamed, stormed out of the house and watched a vampire movie. Today he explained that he no longer embraces Christianity; he claims to be a vampire, and his religion is a blood thirsty one. I explained the similarities between that and Jesus’ whole “blood into wine speech”, but Wooly is deaf to reason. I now consider him dead to me.

Lurleen is on the cough syrup again. She’s quite ordinary and mean.

The pressure got to me, too. I am usually the formidable rock of the family. But, I admit, I had a mental lapse and resulted to violence against several appliances around the house. Some of the more clever devices, like the computer and the plasma T.V., have informed the authorities. I now fear that robots may attack at any moment.

There was a time, Woolworth, when your products’ were of a quality and standard unparalleled. They were the protons which we negatively charged electrons orbited around. Your bakehouse products literally held our family together; today, my family is crumbling to pieces because of them...

Sure, I ate the cake... I ate it all by myself before I pummelled the TV. But I did not enjoy it! And though my arteries are still sluggishly pulsating with your product, I plan to find alternatives to my atherosclerotic old ways. Rest assured, I will consider alternatives next time I enter your store (tonight).

Am I angry Woolworth? Hardly. I am, however, greatly disappointed. You can do better. I’ve seen it before. My family has seen it before. Our community has seen it before.

In short, I suggest you do away with the robot king's products and numbers. It is unaustralian.

Until then, Woolworth, kind regards to you and yours, sir.

Mr. Customer

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