Dear Holiness, the Fridge God,
I have collected the ritual sacrifices you requested - 2 boxes of organic eggs, 8 vanilla Danette puddings, 2 chicken sausages, 6 Activia yoghurts, a bunch of radishes, 3 packets of coriander, 2 of mint, 1 large piece of ginger and countless potatoes. They are untouched by human hand, in accordance with your wishes. Please put them to whatever purpose pleases you and if possible, be merciful.
Your worshipful slave,
(ps I have washed the crisper basket, I hope this does not anger you)
SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUP UP. NOREALLYIMEANITSHUTUP. And if there is any more Amy Macdonald this afternoon, someone is going to get hurt.
You still look like shit, despite my best efforts. Whilst we can both agree that my best efforts are pretty lame, I still think you are not even trying to keep up your end of the bargain. I request that you rectify this, by, at the very least, washing your own windows by close of business today. There are some of those wipe things in the cupboard under your sink.
Dear "Book" (that's a courtesy title. It seems overly familiar to call you 'disparate collection of word documents'),
I really hope you aren't as boring to read as I am finding you to write at the moment.
Please find your own way of making X find out about Y because every solution I come up with stretches credibility so far I want to just drag you to the recycling folder.
Wow, you are so small and pink today! Do not let the tear ducts boss you around like that.
A concerned relative.
Dear Summer Sales,
Please, stop calling me. I have already told you, you and I cannot be together. You are just causing us both needless pain when you harass me like this. ESPECIALLY you, Comptoir des Cotonniers and you, Cos. You should know better.
I mean it. Don't make me take out a restraining order.
I am really sorry. I think it was just too hot for you wasn't it? I am especially sorry at the sneaking relief I know I'll be feeling when I empty your bucket.
Yours in sorrow,
Dear Global Economy
Could you see your way to lightening the FUCK up a bit? Jesus! It might never happen. Miserable bastard.
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