Let’s think about my house that I live in right now. To the left is a strange family with a man that puts out his washing when it’s raining, to the right is a gigantic share house of students that sit chatting loudly till 4am on a weeknight (weekmorning?) – So no, that counts me out.

If you enjoy the company of your neighbours – please comment about it, because quite frankly – I’m not convinced this situation exists. Except in this dystopian fiction I read once, where everyone in the UK was separated into personality types. The book was kind of interesting, but not extremely interesting. I wouldn’t recommend it, whatever it’s called.

But enough about mediocre literature! To the complaint!

It’s just a delightful display of email aggression and I just had to share – enjoy:

I’ve always thought that an all female staff is crucial for the effective marketing of feminine hygiene products and Wendi’s open letter is direct proof of this.

There are so many awful things I can say about pads and tampons – beyond my father’s need to call them “mop ‘em up’s and plug ‘em ups” (I’m sorry I had to write that), the marketing is probably the worst facet of this industry.

As Wendi alludes, the last thing any woman wants to do when she has her period is things like yoga, rock climbing or rhythmic gymnastics – yet the advertising seems to want to push us out of our foetal positions of horrendous pain and into the olympic swimming pool with something that looks like a massive parasitic sea creature living inside of us.

Enjoy Wendi’s letter, cause I know I did.

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years, and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core™ or Dri-Weave™ absorbency, I’d probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I’d certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can’t tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there’s a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from “the curse”? I’m guessing you haven’t. Well, my “time of the month” is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I’ll be transformed into what my husband likes to call “an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.” Isn’t the human body amazing?

As brand manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you’ve no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers’ monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it’s a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend’s testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey’s Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in capri pants. Which brings me to the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: “Have a Happy Period.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness—actual smiling, laughing happiness—is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you’re some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything “happy” about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlúa and lock yourself in your house just so you don’t march down to the local Walgreens armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man. If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn’t it make more sense to say something that’s actually pertinent, like “Put Down the Hammer” or “Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong”? Or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flexi-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that’s a promise I will keep. Always.

Best,

Wendi Aarons
Austin, TX

I’ve never had a satisfying thing to eat on a plane. I just don’t understand why it’s so difficult – it’s the same premise as a lean cuisine really, why the hell can’t they just get it right?

Also, why do they always choose food that looks like vomit? When you feel like doing it – eating it isn’t going to help.

A Styrofoam tray of powdered mash with watery brown ‘gravy’, petrified and reheated ‘fish’ with yellowy green mucus like sauce dribbles is not what you want jumping around on your lap in a dipping hunk of metal at 23000 feet.

It’s just not right.

Beyond the food, a flight is never a wonderful experience – that is unless you can fork out the price of a used car for what is basically hiring a reclining chair for 20 odd hours.

I’m ALWAYS seated right where some kind of roof appendage is in front of the television screen – or – if I’m supposed to have a personal one, it’s usually broken.

So today’s complaint is about just that – the flight. It’s from a year ago and I hope you haven’t seen it, because it’s hilarious.

This complainant went straight to the top when he got a pile of crap for dinner on a long Virgin flight, and it was so florid and well crafted that he got a personal response from Mr Branson himself… A masterpiece to be found after the cut:

Dear Mr Branson

REF: Mumbai to Heathrow 7th December 2008

I love the Virgin brand, I really do which is why I continue to use it despite a series of unfortunate incidents over the last few years. This latest incident takes the biscuit.

Ironically, by the end of the flight I would have gladly paid over a thousand rupees for a single biscuit following the culinary journey of hell I was subjected to at the hands of your corporation.

Look at this Richard. Just look at it:

I imagine the same questions are racing through your brilliant mind as were racing through mine on that fateful day. What is this? Why have I been given it? What have I done to deserve this? And, which one is the starter, which one is the desert?

You don’t get to a position like yours Richard with anything less than a generous sprinkling of observational power so I KNOW you will have spotted the tomato next to the two yellow shafts of sponge on the left. Yes, it’s next to the sponge shaft without the green paste. That’s got to be the clue hasn’t it. No sane person would serve a desert with a tomato would they. Well answer me this Richard, what sort of animal would serve a desert with peas in:

I know it looks like a baaji but it’s in custard Richard, custard. It must be the pudding. Well you’ll be fascinated to hear that it wasn’t custard. It was a sour gel with a clear oil on top. It’s only redeeming feature was that it managed to be so alien to my palette that it took away the taste of the curry emanating from our miscellaneous central cuboid of beige matter. Perhaps the meal on the left might be the desert after all.

Anyway, this is all irrelevant at the moment. I was raised strictly but neatly by my parents and if they knew I had started desert before the main course, a sponge shaft would be the least of my worries. So lets peel back the tin-foil on the main dish and see what’s on offer.

I’ll try and explain how this felt. Imagine being a twelve year old boy Richard. Now imagine it’s Christmas morning and you’re sat their with your final present to open. It’s a big one, and you know what it is. It’s that Goodmans stereo you picked out the catalogue and wrote to Santa about.

Only you open the present and it’s not in there. It’s your hamster Richard. It’s your hamster in the box and it’s not breathing. That’s how I felt when I peeled back the foil and saw this:

Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it’s more of that Baaji custard. I admit I thought the same too, but no. It’s mustard Richard. MUSTARD. More mustard than any man could consume in a month. On the left we have a piece of broccoli and some peppers in a brown glue-like oil and on the right the chef had prepared some mashed potato. The potato masher had obviously broken and so it was decided the next best thing would be to pass the potatoes through the digestive tract of a bird.

Once it was regurgitated it was clearly then blended and mixed with a bit of mustard. Everybody likes a bit of mustard Richard.

By now I was actually starting to feel a little hypoglycaemic. I needed a sugar hit. Luckily there was a small cookie provided. It had caught my eye earlier due to it’s baffling presentation:

It appears to be in an evidence bag from the scene of a crime. A CRIME AGAINST BLOODY COOKING. Either that or some sort of back-street underground cookie, purchased off a gun-toting maniac high on his own supply of yeast. You certainly wouldn’t want to be caught carrying one of these through customs. Imagine biting into a piece of brass Richard. That would be softer on the teeth than the specimen above.

I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was relax but obviously I had to sit with that mess in front of me for half an hour. I swear the sponge shafts moved at one point.

Once cleared, I decided to relax with a bit of your world-famous onboard entertainment. I switched it on:

I apologise for the quality of the photo, it’s just it was incredibly hard to capture Boris Johnson’s face through the flickering white lines running up and down the screen. Perhaps it would be better on another channel:

Is that Ray Liotta? A question I found myself asking over and over again throughout the gruelling half-hour I attempted to watch the film like this. After that I switched off. I’d had enough. I was the hungriest I’d been in my adult life and I had a splitting headache from squinting at a crackling screen.

My only option was to simply stare at the seat in front and wait for either food, or sleep. Neither came for an incredibly long time. But when it did it surpassed my wildest expectations:

Yes! It’s another crime-scene cookie. Only this time you dunk it in the white stuff.

Richard…. What is that white stuff? It looked like it was going to be yoghurt. It finally dawned on me what it was after staring at it. It was a mixture between the Baaji custard and the Mustard sauce. It reminded me of my first week at university. I had overheard that you could make a drink by mixing vodka and refreshers. I lied to my new friends and told them I’d done it loads of times. When I attempted to make the drink in a big bowl it formed a cheese Richard, a cheese. That cheese looked a lot like your baaji-mustard.

So that was that Richard. I didn’t eat a bloody thing. My only question is: How can you live like this? I can’t imagine what dinner round your house is like, it must be like something out of a nature documentary.

As I said at the start I love your brand, I really do. It’s just a shame such a simple thing could bring it crashing to it’s knees and begging for sustenance.

Yours Sincererly…

If you have a complaint about my actions, I implore you to submit it – as that is what this blog is about and would give me additional content to post. But alas – instead, I will appropriate:

Today’s complaint comes from the prodigious website 27b/6 and its author David (creator of the *’fazzo’ Overdue Account Spider) who writes:

If I had a large backyard, I would probably have about a thousand dogs but as my apartment is very small, I cannot have any due to both the Strata agreement and the fact that they would need to be taken for walks every day and I am too lazy for that. There is a park across the road from us but the last time I went there I was offered money to provide a sexual act which was kind of flattering but I declined and told them that I was late for a meeting which was a lie as I think I just played Unreal Tournament the rest of that day.

I did have a goldfish named (posthumously) Stinky who lived in a vase with a plant and when he died I figured it would be nice to leave him there so that his body would break down and fertilise the plant but after a few weeks the smell was so bad I could not enter the apartment without a towel wrapped around my face. My first thought was to take him to work and hide him in my Bosses car but out of respect Seb and I gave him a vikings funeral instead.

*I actually heard someone use that word today… I stared at them dismayed for some time.

The complaint and resulting lulz – after the cut.

From: David Thorne
Date: Thursday 21 May 2009 10.16am
To: Helen Bailey
Subject: Pets in the building

Dear Helen,

Thankyou for your letter concerning pets in my apartment. I understand that having dogs in the apartment is a violation of the agreement due to the comfort and wellbeing of my neighbours and I am currently soundproofing my apartment with egg cartons as I realise my dogs can cause quite a bit of noise. Especially during feeding time when I release live rabbits.

Regards, David.

From: Helen Bailey
Date: Thursday 21 May 2009 11.18am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Pets in the building

Hello David

I have received your email and wish to remind you that the strata agreement states that no animals are allowed in the building regardless of if your apartment is soundproof. How many dogs do you have at the premises?

Helen

From: David Thorne
Date: Thursday 21 May 2009 1.52pm
To: Helen Bailey
Subject: Re: Re: Pets in the building

Dear Helen,

Currently I only have eight dogs but one is expecting puppies and I am very excited by this. I am hoping for a litter of at least ten as this is the number required to participate in dog sled racing. I have read every Jack London novel in preparation and have constructed my own sled from timber I borrowed from the construction site across the road during the night. I have devised a plan which I feel will ensure me taking first place in the next national dog sled championships. For the first year of the puppies life I intend to say the word mush then chase them violently around the apartment while yelling and hitting saucepan lids together. I have estimated that the soundproofing of my apartment should block out at least sixty percent of the noise and the dogs will learn to associate the word mush with great fear so when I yell it on race day, the panic and released adrenaline will spur them on to being winners. I am so confident of this being a foolproof plan that I intend to sell all my furniture the day before the race and bet the proceeds on coming first place.

Regards, David.

From: Helen Bailey
Date: Friday 22 May 2009 9.43am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

David, I am unsure what to make of your email. Do you have pets in the apartment or not?

Helen

From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 22 May 2009 11.27am
To: Helen Bailey
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

Dear Helen,

No. I have a goldfish but due to the air conditioner in my apartment being stuck on a constant two degrees celcius, the water in its bowl is iced over and he has not moved for a while so I do not think he is capable of disturbing the neighbours. The ducks in the bathroom are not mine. The noise which my neighbours possibly mistook for a dog in the apartment is just the looping tape I have of dogs barking which I play at high volume while I am at work to deter potential burglars from breaking in and stealing my tupperware. I need it to keep food fresh. Once I ate leftover chinese that had been kept in an unsealed container and I experienced complete awareness. The next night I tried eating it again but only experienced chest pains and diarrhoea.

Regards, David.

From: Helen Bailey
Date: Friday 22 May 2009 1.46pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

Hello David

You cannot play sounds of dogs or any noise at a volume that disturbs others. I am sure you can appreciate that these rules are for the benefit of all residents of the building. Fish are fine. You cannot have ducks in the apartment though. If it was small birds that would be ok.

Helen

From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 22 May 2009 2.18pm
To: Helen Bailey
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

Dear Helen,

They are very small ducks.

Regards, David.

From: Helen Bailey
Date: Friday 22 May 2009 4.06pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

David, under section 4 of the strata residency agreement it states that you cannot have pets. You agreed to these rules when you signed the forms. These rules are set out to benefit everyone in the building including yourself. Do you have a telephone number I can call you on to discuss?

Helen

From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 22 May 2009 5.02pm
To: Helen Bailey
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

Dear Helen,

The ducks will no doubt be flying south for the winter soon so it will not be an issue. It is probably for the best as they are not getting along very well with my seventeen cats anyway. .

Regards, David.

From: Helen Bailey
Date: Monday 25 May 2009 9.22am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Pets in the building

David, I am just going to write on the forms that we have investigated and you do not have any pets.

Helen

 

Hilarious and wonderful. The only strata animal story I have, is that I lived in an apartment with strict rules on keeping animals, yet the building was mostly populated by gay men – so small dogs were plentiful. One of said man and dog moved in next door and the dog would bark endlessly.

I may have had one too many alcoholic ginger beers while enduring the barking one night and rather impulsively wrote an incredibly passive aggressive note regarding the dog, which I then stumbled into the hall to tape to their door. The dog was never heard again.

I have many regrets.

I now have this brilliant image in my mind of the complaints’ author – she’s in her late 60′s with half moon glasses and her black, grey-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun while she sits at a typewriter grimly working her way through the many things she’s decided to complain about. (Yes, I realise she sent it in an email, but this image works much better for me)

But back to the issue at hand, I decided to go with the delightful morsels from dearadobe.com – a blog dedicated to the unrivaled niche of short, almost tweet-like complaints about software company Adobe.

I have to say, I don’t have a problem with Adobe. I actually admire them, they released a free pdf reader and flash player, that very many people have on their computers (I went to say most, but have no figures to back this up)

Their other products are popular and reliable if you have the money for them. Also, one of their product names should be in the dictionary… (Who on earth says “have you manipulated that image yet?” – It’s ‘photoshopped’ people!) How’s that for marketing?

But enough grovelling from me, to the complaints. Some of my favourites:

Please create an installer that puts your software on my computer in less time than it takes to install an operating system.

Why does Photoshop cost as much as a pre-owned small car? Drop the price please!!

Could you make Adobe Reader start up slower? I’d like to have enough time to go get a sandwich before I read a one page document.

Why do you install six “helper” applications in the background when all I want is Photoshop? Keep your Bridge to nowhere the fuck off my system.

Let me keep my browser open while you update your programs. Or eat hair. The choice is yours.

Adobe Updater is the single worst piece of software I have ever seen. Please fuck off with that.

Why do you think it’s reasonable for your updater to steal focus while I’m typing and interpret my keystrokes as approval to reboot my machine?

Your updater sucks. Make it, perhaps, suck less.

Please remember that some of us are starving artists and don’t have hundreds of dollars to shell out on your products every year! Try to make it reasonable to stay on top of technology!!

Mouse wheel. Learn what it is.

I installed Acrobat 7, then had to restart my computer six times in a row — once for each patch. It is not 2001. This kind of bullshit is no longer acceptable.

Sort out your installers. They make baby Jesus cry

Alot of this stuff has its merit, but really – the software is FREE. You’re lucky they update Reader to begin with. If I were Adobe, I’d take it away from you and then see how much you dislike my installer while you’re staring blankly at the nonsense code of a pdf in Word.

Another thing, as I realised the first time I had to get Adobe Audition for my job – yes, it is expensive. Because what you should be doing with their products is paid work… Not sitting at home eating 2 minute noodles refreshing fark.com for their photoshop competitions only to produce shit like this:

*breathes*

Yes. It’s shopped.

This is fine with me; I find them funny as well. We had this particularly ‘engrish’ bag in stock that sold quite quickly (photo attached)  – though about a week later – we received this email:

USE THIS WEBSITE TO TRANSLATE: http://babelfish.yahoo.com/

Hello,

I have linked you to this website because I think it’s very important that you understand what I’m writing. A friend of mine recently gave me a bag from your store as a ‘funny’ gift. I have to say, I most certainly did not laugh.

It was a bag with a smiling red dog on the front with the absolutely nonsensical words:

“No objcction”

and then underneath that:

“I beard chiece’s
a big patty
tonsgot Sourds
The too doesn’s
Its Let’s go out”

I think I speak for everyone in the English speaking world when I say – what on earth do you think you’re trying to communicate? I am a high school English teacher and I take offence to this item not only being displayed, but sold in Australia. A linguistic atrocity has been committed here.

What will children passing by think? That this is how you should speak? I certainly hope not – because it will be community leaders like me that will have to pick up the pieces.

I am willing to sacrifice my time to teach your staff English, you need only ask. Beyond that, there are so very many places where you can learn to speak English in Sydney for free – I implore you all to take up that opportunity. I have been into your shop since and I am also willing to come into your shop one evening to tell you which of your products are incorrect, which, I am sad to say is the vast majority.

I hope that this email will not only assist you to make your success in our country – but assist all those that your products have misled into speaking improperly.

Charlotte continues:

It’s with deep regret that I have to decline her offer to not only patronise me and my staff with her English lessons, but also for her to come in and strip my store of all its products. It just so happens that I was born in Australia and learnt English in primary school and from my parents like everyone else.

Now that I can not only speak English and Japanese – but am almost fluent in French, I’ll be happy to offer my staff any linguistic assistance they may need – which is none, as they can all speak English also.

Wow… Charlotte. That’s amazing. That’s unbelievable.

That’s… um… I’m, really sorry…

—Edited To Add—

Out of curiousity, I decided to use this woman’s ‘helpful’ link to babel fish to translate her message to Japanese and then back to English… Now who’s creating the linguistic atrocities?

Because today, as for me as for understanding those which I have written on this web sight I think of that it is very important, it connected.

Recently my friend gave the sack from your store to me as the gift of funny of the `. I must say me most did not laugh most certainly. That was the sack where the dog whose smile of the front part of meaningless word is red absolutely has been attached:

“There is no objcction”
and next under that: “chiece of my self-depreciation large patty tonsgot Sourds I who doesn that will go out excessively”
when I say, think of that you speak for everyone of the world where me you speak English, – what the fact that to transmit is tried, you think?
I am English of the high school teacher, feeling is harmed in this item which is not indicated simply, is sold in Australia. Language atrocity was entrusted here.

The child has crossed what, you think? This how should speak, whether, being? I certainly – that the community leader way must control situation, because it is I it is not, you desire. As for me simply it is necessary to ask my time which is taught in sacrifice English of your staff, rejoicing, is.

Exceeding that, in order to take the opportunity me such very can learn the fact that you speak the Sydney for all freedom which you entreat English there are many places. I and it decides that it comes entering to 1 evening your stores because either one of your products says, whether it is inaccurate at your store, the large portion where, I saying, am sad and am.

I this E-mail help just in order to help the E-mail which is made to misunderstand to in order – to do your success of our countries all your products speaking to inadequacy, but thing is desired.

This is why I couldn’t refuse Paul from Sydney, NSW when he  sent me a series of entries via our submit page

An Unreasonable Thing To Expect Ever Happening

Neighbours are tricky. I’ve never had a neighbour I’ve gotten on with and I think it’s the Murphy’s Law of living anywhere there’s someone else close by. In fact I’ve had a number of neighbours that have made my life a living hell – but less about me.

It seems Paul has been holding these complaints about his neighbour for many years and thus I’m happy to show them here.

And so behind the cut – The Tales of Arthur the Arsehole

I have a neighbour and his name is “Arsehole” (his real name is Arthur but I am sure you will understand why we renamed him). We used to have a reasonably cordial relationship until one day when I decided to build a single bedroom extension on the front of the house.
Plans were drawn-up, application submitted to council, building notifications were put on display, notices sent to neighbours by council seeking objections resulting in all of the correct permissions after crossing the “t’s” and dotting the “i’s”. The six moth project then turned into 12 months because of weather and builders but eventually we go to the point of applying the last lick of paint. (The builders are another instalment for another day)
While at work, I get a phone call to say that my house is in the local newspaper and it was suggested that I should obtain a copy – Lo and behold, there on the front page was a photo of my house with “Arsehole” standing in front of it with his hands on his hips under the headlines “Illegal extension – It must be pulled down” – I dare say things didn’t improve until he eventually moved.
Footnote: I can only conclude that it was a case of “Extension envy” because mine was bigger than his

“Arseholes” pride and Joy was his Holden Kingswood and it was as well manicured as his front lawn. Well, “Arsehole” decided that his Kingswood needed a proper garage and drive way rather than the carport he was using so he built a new garage and driveway along the fence line to my property (totally blocking out the sun to my yard, but I no complain). Unbeknownst to me, there were a lot of rocks and rubble left over from the building of his driveway and it was hidden in the grass on my nature strip.
Anyway, I put my headphones on, turn-up the iPod and start mowing the nature strip in total oblivion however; I was brought back from oblivion by a ranting and raving, red faced and very angry “Arsehole” jumping up and down waving his arms in all directions – I have never seen him so off his head. I looked to where he was pointing to see that one of the rocks left over from his driveway was picked-up by the lawn mower and had gone straight through his windscreen. All I could think of was “Oh no, not the Kingswood” – Dare I say that good neighbour relations was dealt a heavy blow that day (not that there were any to start with)

I had a deciduous tree on my front lawn and it was a beautiful tree that every autumn rewarded us with a splendid pallet of autumn colours before eventually shedding all of it leaves. One fine autumn day while the family and I were outside marvelling at the magnificent colourful display, “Arsehole” came storming out of his house and abused us all because some of the leaves were falling on his precious lawn.
Our response to this was to forever more not mow our lawn or sweep-up the leaves preferring to leave them on the ground to be blown onto his lawn. From then on, every weekend we would grab the deck chairs and sit and watch “Arsehole” rake the leaves back onto our lawn where we leave them to gather only to be blown back onto “Arseholes” lawn only to be repeated again and again – Autumn was to become our favourite time of year.

I was watering my lawn one day (before the water shortage of course) and I noticed that it looked like rain so I went out to put the sprinkler away thinking it was not needed. As I was coiling the hose “Arsehole” came storming out of his house and started abusing me because my sprinkler over-sprayed onto his lawn and footpath.
Just then the heavens opened-up which resulting in my response being that he should take his complaints to the Big Boss in the sky” because his over-spray is much bigger than mine

Thanks Paul, a classic example of what happens when people have to live at all close to each other.

The best news about this is that this brings the crazy complainers out of the woodwork. My favourite bit about this, is that for some reason these people are fond of punctuation and caps lock – yet seem to be allergic to spell check.

Today’s complaint comes from the Advertising Standards Bureau, who is keeping their complainant anonymous after dismissing their case regarding this ad:

Which to be honest, I think is gross but very clever. However (let’s call them ‘discusted in WA’) not only doesn’t like it, but seems to gradually lose control of their emotions and then ends it composed, yet misspelled:

It’s unnecesary to be so graphic. It’s totally discusting, nauseating and offensive.
This ad makes me and my family and i’m sure many other people fisically sick, the first time i saw it i was eating dinner and couldn’t eat anymore. Everytime it comes on we switch the channel.
Do you think it’s good to have a child sneeze in your face as you are just sitting down to dinner? I have never seen anything so disgusting.
It is not necessary to show such a REVOLTING and DISCUSTING thing on TV to advertize the fact that people need to have the flu vaccine. Who in their right minds wants to see runny green mucus running down a pain of glass ??? Especially when it is dinner time ?

It is repulsive to watch with phlem on the screen.

Well, ‘discusted in WA’ – no one in their right mind wants to see runny green mucus running down a pane of glass, but something tells me that’s the point.

Who wants to see crash victims sprawled on the road, a brain getting cut in half or especially bright lights and colours on your screen at 1am with a crazy man screaming “COME IN FOR ONE DAY ONLY!!!!!! ONE DAY ONLY!!!! CRAAAAAZY PRICES!!”

The answer is no one. So the plan of action is to maybe find something else to do while you’re eating dinner, like, say… speaking with your family. Then to the serious business of putting a current version of Word with spell check on your Christmas list this year and removing your shift key. Good luck with that.

A lonely, wet, umbrella-less night

It’s a cold, dark night at a mostly damp Sydney bus stop. A girl sits uncomfortably, perched on the edge of the saturated bench shivering and smouldering all at once.

It has been a 50 minute wait for the bus so far and it’s growing late after the long 9 hour working day. Money’s short as pay day is tomorrow.

The bus is timetabled to come every 20 minutes, and yet only one passes without stopping – overladen with stumbling passengers. Angrily, the girl sticks out her hand to flag a taxi and with her other, impulsively searches in her bag for her iphone.

She furiously writes the following complaint (after the cut)

“To whom it may concern:
I write to you from a taxi, at great expense, after waiting at the UTS bus stop for 50 minutes to no avail.
During this time many buses were supposed to arrive according to your timetable, though unfortunately only one had passed me in that time. This bus would not open it’s doors for me understandably, as I counted 20 standing passengers as it sat in traffic.
The weather is wet, and I can accept some lateness – but this goes beyond lateness and enters the unhappy realm of negligence.
Also, I would be happy to blame the lateness on the weather, but this problem persists rain, hail or shine – morning, noon and night.
This is my second letter of complaint on this issue, and though your reply was prompt – I would have much prefered the time was spent solving this grave issue.
Not one bus has been under 10 minutes late recently, some extending to 45 minutes to an hour late – and all of those buses grossly overburdened with passengers, often to the extent where their safety is being compromised.
The other week, I was one of 23 standing on an evening bus and one woman, as a result of there being little handhold – fell to the floor of the bus and was trampled by other passengers also stumbling. It is only a matter of time before one of these passengers holds the STA liable – as they have a right to do so.
I will not identify any individual drivers in this note as, unlike what was implied in your previous reply, it is not strictly their fault or responsibility. Rather it is obviously a case of supply not meeting demand by a great amount. Also that the duty to provide a safe and reliable public transport service to the people of this route is not being fulfilled.
Some of the 428 route does not have any other transport option either physically or financially and so it is a travesty that the elderly, disabled and other sections of this community are being disenfranchised in such a way.
I will also be forwarding this information to the relevant bodies and hope to see change very soon as it is extremely urgent.”

An example of somewhat ridiculous things being written in anger. Reading back, I find this quite hilarious.

I’m not this person… Usually… Well if I’m wet, tired, poor and disappointed – this is what happens… But not usually.

They’ve promised a reply within 21 working days – though as I seem to have mentioned in my angry iPhone rant – I don’t seem to care.