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Path: utzoo!watmath!clyde!burl!ulysses!mhuxj!mhuxr!mhuxv!sgard
From: sgard@mhuxv.UUCP (GARDNER)
Newsgroups: net.jokes
Subject: Letter of Complaint
Message-ID: <187@mhuxv.UUCP>
Date: Thu, 18-Oct-84 15:57:46 EDT
Article-I.D.: mhuxv.187
Posted: Thu Oct 18 15:57:46 1984
Date-Received: Sun, 21-Oct-84 09:38:15 EDT
Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories, Murray Hill
Lines: 79

Hey, Line Eater!
This one's for you whatever you are....




The following is an actual letter of complaint which 
has been drifting around for while.
Note the date sent and the prices quoted.  What makes
it unique is it's excellent format...It informs the 
recipient of how much the product is used to get the       
reader's attention, explains the situation and then
punches the reader in the face. (One obsecnity in 
context, for those of you who wish to pass this by).

                         
******************************************************************
 
 
                                          Atlanta, Georgia
                                          September 13, 1970
     
Director 
Billing Department
Shell Oil Company 
P.O. Box XXXX
Tulsa, Oklahoma 74102 

Dear Sir:
I have been a regular customer of the Shell Oil Company for several years
now, and spend approximately $40.00 per month on Shell products. Until 
recently, I have been completely satisfied with the quality of Shell products
and with the service of Shell employees.
   
Included in my most recent statement from your department was a bill for 
$12.00 for a tire which I purchased at the Lowell I> Reels Shell station 
in McAdenville, N.C. I stopped at this station for gasoline and to have a
timing malfunction corrected. The gasoline cost $5.15; eight new plugs 
cost $9.36; labor on the points $2.50. All well and good.

Earlier in the day I had a flat tire, which the attendant at the Lowell I.
Reels station informed me that he was unable to fix. He suggested that I 
purchase a tire from him in order that I have a spare for the remainder 
of my journey to Atlanta. I told him that I preferred to buy tires from
home station in Atlanta, but he continued to stress the risk of driving 
without a spare. My reluctance to trade with an unknown dealer, even a  
Shell dealer, did not discourage him and finally, as I was leaving, he said
that out of concern for my safety (my spare was not new) and because I had
made a substantial expenditure at his station, he would make me a special 
deal. He produced a tire ("Hits a good one. Still has the tits on it. See
them tits. Hits a twenty dollar tar".) which I purchased for twelve dollars
and which he installed on the front left side for sixty-five cents. Fifty 
miles further down the highway, I had a blowout.


Not a puncture which brought a slow, flapping flat, nor a polite ladyfinger
firecracker rubberburpple rupture (pop); but a howitzer blowout, which 
reared the the hood of my car up into my face, a blowout, sir, which 
tore flap of rubber from this "tire" large enough to make soles for 
both sandals of a medium sized hippie. In a twinkling, then, I was driving
down Interstate 85 at sixty miles per hour on three tires and one rim with 
rubber clinging to it in desparate shreds and patches, an instrument, that
bent, revolving, steel-then-rubber-then-steel rim, whose sound can be
approximated by the simultaneous placing of a handful of gravel and a 
young duck into a Waring Blender.
 
The word "careen" does no justice whatever to the movement that the car 
then performed. According to the highway patrolman's report, the driver in 
the adjoining lane, the left hand --- who, incidentally, was attempting
to pass me at the time ---, ejaculated adrenalin all over the ceiling of
is car. My own passengers were fused into a featureless quiver in the 
key of "G" in the back seat of my car. The rim was bent; the tits were 
gone; and you can F--k yourself with a cream cheese dildo if you entertain
for one moment the delusion that I intend to pay the twelve dollars.
    
                                       Sincerely yours,
                                       /s/ T.B.T.

			Compliments of:  "Gunsmoke"