Naughty Letters to Ms. Mac

Countless noble souls (and many fluffy kittens) sacrificed their lives during the making of this blog. We think you will agree they were worth it.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Dearest Mistress Brokeback,

I spent TWO HOURS running between the pleece station and my bank: the pleece needed proof that the money had gone from my account, and they wouldn't give me a declaration of theft without it, and the bank couldn't give me a bank statement because their computers were down. Finally got some Important Bits of Paper out of them. I'm going to have to work very late tonight to make up the lost work hours (it's proofreading night, and I was going to have to work late anyway!)

Long story short:

- The money was debited/stolen from my account last night.

- I've told PayPal to fuck off, and that they should have protected me better.

- My bank card has been cut into little pieces, I'll have to wait ten days for a new one (I'm going on a trip to Switzerland in seven days, hahahaha!).

- Bank lady does not know if I'll get my money back, as I had no bank card theft insurance.

- Bank lady sold me insurance at 4 euros per month.

- Pleece want me to go back on Friday to declare the theft officially. They think I should wait to hear from the Wikimedia Foundation...

Very much need your moral support, and any other kinds of support you wish to offer (chest, groin, victim...). Your Christmas present is indeed in great danger now. You might wish to write a list of suitable alternatives, as long as they all cost no more than two bucks each.

But I take comfort in the fact that you always loved me for my mind, and not my money. Although the caviar and champagne probably helped you appreciate my mind somewhat.

Sad, Bah! Humbug kisses,
Princess Brokey McRobbedRobbed.


Dear Thieves,

Please just knock on my door next time, and I'll give you some of my nice money, then I can roll over and go back to sleep.

You can go and buy some nice hard drugs with it, take a lovely little overdose and drown slowly in your own charming vomit.

Yours sincerely,
Mrs Worn Out and Can't Take It Anymore


Post a Comment

<< Home