1/10/92
Dear Editor,
Wilt Chamberlain claims to have had sex with 20,000 different women. 20,000: certainly an impressive assertion, however preposterous and ego-inflated it may be. One would assume that in order to maintain that type of rigorous sexual schedule, quality might be sacrificed to some degree, and his existence must have been exclusively devoted to eating, playing basketball and ejaculating, and definitely not in that order. Wilt's 55; so if we assume he lost his virginity young on account of being tall -- say at age 13 -- that gives him 42 sex-packed years, or a daily average of 1.3 distinct sets of female genitalia. And, of course, if you take into account the occasional sex-free day due to injuries, highway gridlock or other inhibiting factors, we can round that up to about 1.5 partners per.
Few would argue that Wilt Chamberlain was a great basketball player, and I can’t be sure he's fibbing about his cocks-man-ship, but how did he arrive at these statistics? Was there a turnstile he traveled with from one hotel room to another? Maybe he installed one of those rubber strips in his doorway: the kind cars drive over enabling stoplights to regulate traffic flow? Or did he hire an official to provide round-the-clock surveillance? Even the late John C. Holms, bisexual, dope-addict, porn-king (famous for his elephantine penis), claimed only a demure figure of 14,000 different women. Gene Simmons, fire-breathing-rock-star-turned- actor, alleges a mere 3,000 separate heterosexual conquests, indicating nearly puritanical restraint compared to "Wilt-the-Stilt's" colossal coitus total.
I'm 33. My average doesn't even work out to one per year. Seems kinda puny and un-macho. I wonder if any of my girlfriends had sex with Wilt? Statistically, it’d be a pretty fair bet, except for our age difference and the fact that I lived in Florida until I was seventeen (where we didn't have a professional basketball team). I'm worried, though. He’d be a tough act to follow: a 7' tall super-athlete with size 16 feet.
Fear of spilling his seed indiscriminately mustn’t have figured prominently into Wilt's life plan; and golly, talk about a demanding production quota for his poor old testicles. I don't know of any reference material on load-volume averages, but he's gotta have pumped out at least enough semen to fill an Olympic-size swimming pool. Normally I assume that when someone's self-esteem is such that they brag about sexual prowess, the resulting numbers reflect at least a 100% improvement on reality. Even if that brings his actual total down to the vicinity of 10,000, that's more than enough to guarantee his slot in the Virility Hall of Fame and position him as one of the great Jizzmeisters of this -- or any other -- century.
Jake Daehler
WGA Registered 2010
Voiceover artist and actor, Jake Daehler.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Pee-Wee Herman
7/30/91
Dear Editors,
This Pee-Wee Herman thing is really bothering me. Apparently, Paul Rubens, aka Pee-Wee Herman, was visiting his mom in Sarasota, Florida and didn't feel like jerking-off in the house. So he went to a porno-movie and was seen masturbating in the dark theater by some undercover cop with good night vision. In spite of presumably significant other world events like the signing of the first major arms limitation treaty between the U.S. and Soviet Union, the Pee-Wee Masturbation Story is the big news all over the country. The brave mavericks at CBS TV already canceled reruns of his show. He's the punch-line to every comedian's joke and -- no doubt – he’ll be the subject of many a sermon in the month's to come. Has he been convicted of anything? No. Has he had a trial? No. Is it anyone's business? No. Considering who he is, should he have been more careful? Probably.
The way the story first broke was so ambiguous and misleading: "He exposed himself." It sounded like he'd flashed a toddler. He was in a dark, porno-theater, where the majority of patrons were probably also jerking off, as people in porno houses have always done and will continue to do. Who does that hurt? The worst that can happen would be that they accidentally miss their popcorn or napkin and semen gets on the floor or the seat back in front of them. Surely some paid employee from the theater would come around afterward with a mop or squeegee to clean it up. Not the end of the world. The management of these theaters are prepared.
I'm from Florida. I'm not proud of it. They have a terrible public school system and one of the lowest literacy rates in the United States. Florida also has an unbelievably high crime rate, thanks to their #1 industry: drugs. Despite having their hands full, Florida law enforcement finds time to fight the really heinous priority crime by busting record store owners for selling 2-Live-Crew's "obscene" music and setting up sting operations to nail visiting celebrity masturbators.
There are other confusing elements at work here, too. It's apparently criminal for a man to whip out his own weenie in a darkened porno-theater, yet all across the Sunshine State you can visit strip clubs where completely naked women will dance on your table for $5. There's even a topless doughnut shop. Chippendale guys don't ever get totally naked. That's because they're men. In the movies you can show a nude woman and still have an R rating, but flash some guy’s Johnson and they'll slap you with an X rating. Anyway, I think this whole Pee-Wee business is fueled by America's idiotic and persistent denial that everybody has jerked off at some time and many of us continue to do it on a regular basis. We, as church-going people, don't want to believe that we all beat off. So if you are unlucky enough to be the pubescent child of repressed parents and you're already worried about the erections you keep getting, what a positive and helpful message this whole Pee-Wee crap carries: If you jerk off, you are a derelict, a criminal, and you deserve to be publicly humiliated and have your career destroyed. Moral of the story: with all the nice, sunny places in the world to live or visit, why would anyone choose Florida?
Jake Daehler
WGA Registered 2010
Dear Editors,
This Pee-Wee Herman thing is really bothering me. Apparently, Paul Rubens, aka Pee-Wee Herman, was visiting his mom in Sarasota, Florida and didn't feel like jerking-off in the house. So he went to a porno-movie and was seen masturbating in the dark theater by some undercover cop with good night vision. In spite of presumably significant other world events like the signing of the first major arms limitation treaty between the U.S. and Soviet Union, the Pee-Wee Masturbation Story is the big news all over the country. The brave mavericks at CBS TV already canceled reruns of his show. He's the punch-line to every comedian's joke and -- no doubt – he’ll be the subject of many a sermon in the month's to come. Has he been convicted of anything? No. Has he had a trial? No. Is it anyone's business? No. Considering who he is, should he have been more careful? Probably.
The way the story first broke was so ambiguous and misleading: "He exposed himself." It sounded like he'd flashed a toddler. He was in a dark, porno-theater, where the majority of patrons were probably also jerking off, as people in porno houses have always done and will continue to do. Who does that hurt? The worst that can happen would be that they accidentally miss their popcorn or napkin and semen gets on the floor or the seat back in front of them. Surely some paid employee from the theater would come around afterward with a mop or squeegee to clean it up. Not the end of the world. The management of these theaters are prepared.
I'm from Florida. I'm not proud of it. They have a terrible public school system and one of the lowest literacy rates in the United States. Florida also has an unbelievably high crime rate, thanks to their #1 industry: drugs. Despite having their hands full, Florida law enforcement finds time to fight the really heinous priority crime by busting record store owners for selling 2-Live-Crew's "obscene" music and setting up sting operations to nail visiting celebrity masturbators.
There are other confusing elements at work here, too. It's apparently criminal for a man to whip out his own weenie in a darkened porno-theater, yet all across the Sunshine State you can visit strip clubs where completely naked women will dance on your table for $5. There's even a topless doughnut shop. Chippendale guys don't ever get totally naked. That's because they're men. In the movies you can show a nude woman and still have an R rating, but flash some guy’s Johnson and they'll slap you with an X rating. Anyway, I think this whole Pee-Wee business is fueled by America's idiotic and persistent denial that everybody has jerked off at some time and many of us continue to do it on a regular basis. We, as church-going people, don't want to believe that we all beat off. So if you are unlucky enough to be the pubescent child of repressed parents and you're already worried about the erections you keep getting, what a positive and helpful message this whole Pee-Wee crap carries: If you jerk off, you are a derelict, a criminal, and you deserve to be publicly humiliated and have your career destroyed. Moral of the story: with all the nice, sunny places in the world to live or visit, why would anyone choose Florida?
Jake Daehler
WGA Registered 2010
NY Times Letter to the Editor
7/7/94
The New York Times
New York, NY 10036
Dear Sirs,
Rumor has it, “More Americans get their news from ABC than from any other source.” If that’s true, then I am everyman. Actually, I don’t discriminate. As an infotainment junky, I tape and watch all the network magazine shows: 60 MINUTES, DATELINE NBC, 20/20, etc. Though I kid myself about having standards beneath which I will not limbo (e.g. tabloid shows like HARD COPY and A CURRENT AFFAIR), I’ll admit that if a line still exists at all, differentiating them from the programs I consume, it’s becoming as blurred as the one separating church and state in the new Christian South.
On Monday, I began receiving home delivery of your newspaper. I signed up several weeks ago outside the barbershop at a time when I was feeling particularly grown-up and responsible. Consequently, the paper’s arrival came as no surprise, and yet I feel as if I’ve been given a kind of divine shove in light of this O.J. thing. Don’t get the wrong idea -- I’m not some moralistic party-pooper who won’t slow down and gawk at a grisly three-car pile up on the interstate. Quite the contrary. In fact, I believe that the single greatest moment in the history of live television was the coverage of Mr. Simpson’s white Bronco in slow flight down a closed California freeway (complete with mobile phone link, police motorcade and throngs of curious well-wishers). In a way, it’s comforting to see that despite America’s declining financial position in the global community, and our creeping transition into a service economy, by God, when it comes to elevating the bizarre to surreal proportions, we’re still the undisputed champions.
This week it seems the O.J. story is "all the news that’s fit to tape." From PRIMETIME LIVE, to NOW, forty-five minutes out of each hour is Simpson, Simpson and more Simpson, hashed and rehashed from every conceivable angle, second, third and fourth guessed by a dozen celebrity lawyers. That’s okay with me because I can always hit the fast forward button and use the free time to do something constructive with my life. Most of the T.V. news is devoted to O.J. as well, but even that I can grudgingly accept.
Last night, however, things went too far! There was no ABC EVENING NEWS at all, just live coverage of the hearing. No apology was made. Peter Jennings didn’t even stick his head into the corner of the frame to make it look semi-official. I want to imagine that Peter was ashamed, but more likely he was just busy having a low-cal dinner with Kathleen Sullivan or out on the road getting a jump on the drive home. I couldn’t believe it. They even preempted JEOPARDY! Is there no such thing as decency left? Was this the one day nothing else happened in the whole world? Had the entire heretofore, newsworthy planet and its inhabitants ceased to exist altogether? On tenterhooks, I scanned the channels to no avail. Suddenly, in a burst of inspiration, I grabbed the newspaper and read. Instantly my sense of security was restored. Yes! The world was still there. Apparently, various people and governments had the bad taste to go right ahead making headlines that had nothing to do with an ex-football player suspected of murder. And though the reporting of this lesser news was clearly not video grade, still it somehow stuck to paper. Thank heavens for the printed page.
Sincerely,
Jake Daehler
246-9792
WGA Registered 2010
The New York Times
New York, NY 10036
Dear Sirs,
Rumor has it, “More Americans get their news from ABC than from any other source.” If that’s true, then I am everyman. Actually, I don’t discriminate. As an infotainment junky, I tape and watch all the network magazine shows: 60 MINUTES, DATELINE NBC, 20/20, etc. Though I kid myself about having standards beneath which I will not limbo (e.g. tabloid shows like HARD COPY and A CURRENT AFFAIR), I’ll admit that if a line still exists at all, differentiating them from the programs I consume, it’s becoming as blurred as the one separating church and state in the new Christian South.
On Monday, I began receiving home delivery of your newspaper. I signed up several weeks ago outside the barbershop at a time when I was feeling particularly grown-up and responsible. Consequently, the paper’s arrival came as no surprise, and yet I feel as if I’ve been given a kind of divine shove in light of this O.J. thing. Don’t get the wrong idea -- I’m not some moralistic party-pooper who won’t slow down and gawk at a grisly three-car pile up on the interstate. Quite the contrary. In fact, I believe that the single greatest moment in the history of live television was the coverage of Mr. Simpson’s white Bronco in slow flight down a closed California freeway (complete with mobile phone link, police motorcade and throngs of curious well-wishers). In a way, it’s comforting to see that despite America’s declining financial position in the global community, and our creeping transition into a service economy, by God, when it comes to elevating the bizarre to surreal proportions, we’re still the undisputed champions.
This week it seems the O.J. story is "all the news that’s fit to tape." From PRIMETIME LIVE, to NOW, forty-five minutes out of each hour is Simpson, Simpson and more Simpson, hashed and rehashed from every conceivable angle, second, third and fourth guessed by a dozen celebrity lawyers. That’s okay with me because I can always hit the fast forward button and use the free time to do something constructive with my life. Most of the T.V. news is devoted to O.J. as well, but even that I can grudgingly accept.
Last night, however, things went too far! There was no ABC EVENING NEWS at all, just live coverage of the hearing. No apology was made. Peter Jennings didn’t even stick his head into the corner of the frame to make it look semi-official. I want to imagine that Peter was ashamed, but more likely he was just busy having a low-cal dinner with Kathleen Sullivan or out on the road getting a jump on the drive home. I couldn’t believe it. They even preempted JEOPARDY! Is there no such thing as decency left? Was this the one day nothing else happened in the whole world? Had the entire heretofore, newsworthy planet and its inhabitants ceased to exist altogether? On tenterhooks, I scanned the channels to no avail. Suddenly, in a burst of inspiration, I grabbed the newspaper and read. Instantly my sense of security was restored. Yes! The world was still there. Apparently, various people and governments had the bad taste to go right ahead making headlines that had nothing to do with an ex-football player suspected of murder. And though the reporting of this lesser news was clearly not video grade, still it somehow stuck to paper. Thank heavens for the printed page.
Sincerely,
Jake Daehler
246-9792
WGA Registered 2010
NY Times Style Editor
7/14/92
The New York Times
New York, NY 10036
Dear NY Times Style Editor:
Happy Bastille Day! I tried repeatedly to thank you over the phone for sending me the pictures of my wedding from the May 24th, Sunday Times and to apologize for giving you a hard time about your newspaper's unfortunate policy of withholding negatives of unpublished photographs (despite pledges made by both your columnist and photographer). Having declared my good intentions on no less than five separate occasions, to different people who comprise your phalanx of assistants and call interceptors (only to be put off and not have my calls returned by you), I can only infer a fierce resolution on your part to never subject your delicate and discriminating eardrums to the apparently loathsome timbre of my unworthy voice. Hence the missive you are now holding.
Whereas I am grateful for the four 8x10's you promised and sent me, alas I'm sorry to report that there is a problem. The top photo of my wife, myself and our mothers was inadvertently printed vertically, thus making it off-center and without an important part of my mom's right shoulder as well as a good deal of the background that so beautifully and horizontally appeared in the style section of your fine publication. I assume such a mistake could never have been made by an experienced photo editor such as yourself. You probably didn't see it. The task of doing anything nice for me -- promised or otherwise -- was evidently so distasteful to you that perhaps you enlisted the support of one of your eager -- if incompetent – aforementioned helpers. This is, of course, supposition on my part. I sense that you are a person of high integrity and, as such, am certain you'll want to make this thing right and reprint the two 8x10's correctly to restore the missing chunk of Mom and the excised background floral arrangements, now that this error has finally been brought to your attention. Thanks in advance for your efforts.
Sincerely,
Jake Daehler
P.S. The two 8x10's of the bottom photo of my wife up on the chair are beautiful and expertly printed!
WGA Registered 2010
The New York Times
New York, NY 10036
Dear NY Times Style Editor:
Happy Bastille Day! I tried repeatedly to thank you over the phone for sending me the pictures of my wedding from the May 24th, Sunday Times and to apologize for giving you a hard time about your newspaper's unfortunate policy of withholding negatives of unpublished photographs (despite pledges made by both your columnist and photographer). Having declared my good intentions on no less than five separate occasions, to different people who comprise your phalanx of assistants and call interceptors (only to be put off and not have my calls returned by you), I can only infer a fierce resolution on your part to never subject your delicate and discriminating eardrums to the apparently loathsome timbre of my unworthy voice. Hence the missive you are now holding.
Whereas I am grateful for the four 8x10's you promised and sent me, alas I'm sorry to report that there is a problem. The top photo of my wife, myself and our mothers was inadvertently printed vertically, thus making it off-center and without an important part of my mom's right shoulder as well as a good deal of the background that so beautifully and horizontally appeared in the style section of your fine publication. I assume such a mistake could never have been made by an experienced photo editor such as yourself. You probably didn't see it. The task of doing anything nice for me -- promised or otherwise -- was evidently so distasteful to you that perhaps you enlisted the support of one of your eager -- if incompetent – aforementioned helpers. This is, of course, supposition on my part. I sense that you are a person of high integrity and, as such, am certain you'll want to make this thing right and reprint the two 8x10's correctly to restore the missing chunk of Mom and the excised background floral arrangements, now that this error has finally been brought to your attention. Thanks in advance for your efforts.
Sincerely,
Jake Daehler
P.S. The two 8x10's of the bottom photo of my wife up on the chair are beautiful and expertly printed!
WGA Registered 2010
Slaymaker Locks
12/2/92
Slaymaker Lock Co., Inc.
Lancastrer, PA 17604
Dear Slaymakers:
It's been nearly four years since I sent you the enclosed letter and the defective lock mentioned therein. If I had to count on you for security, I’d be naked and homeless by now. No wonder you guys have never over-taken Master as the nation's lock leader. How about shakin' a leg before I die of old age?!
No longer patiently yours,
J.K. Daehler
P.S. Are you guys Amish? I notice your address is in Amish country, is that why your response is taking so long? If a new lock is already on its way to me via buggy, please accept my apology.
WGA Registered 2010
Slaymaker Lock Co., Inc.
Lancastrer, PA 17604
Dear Slaymakers:
It's been nearly four years since I sent you the enclosed letter and the defective lock mentioned therein. If I had to count on you for security, I’d be naked and homeless by now. No wonder you guys have never over-taken Master as the nation's lock leader. How about shakin' a leg before I die of old age?!
No longer patiently yours,
J.K. Daehler
P.S. Are you guys Amish? I notice your address is in Amish country, is that why your response is taking so long? If a new lock is already on its way to me via buggy, please accept my apology.
WGA Registered 2010
Sanyo Phone
12/2/91
S.F.S. Corporation
Little Ferry, NJ 07643
Dear Sanyo:
Eight or nine years ago, I purchased the enclosed “Handy Telephone, model #TH2000S” in New York City as a Christmas present for my elderly widowed mother in Florida. Since that time, I assumed many of our warm, familial phone conversations were made via the aforementioned TH2000S. However, a recent visit home revealed that I was very much mistaken. I was surprised to find the gift phone not in use, but rather, piled in a dusty old box of Jimmy Carter memorabilia. My seventy year-old mother -- who doesn’t like to make waves -- sheepishly explained that it had never worked properly and had been given up for dead, less than a month after she’d received it. Apparently, her TH2000S wouldn’t hold a charge, had extremely limited range, was vulnerable to interference from virtually anything electric, would disconnect in the middle of calls and sounded off at random intervals as if possessed by some small telecommunications demon. I was stunned. Granted, my mother should have told me at the time, but more alarming was the discrepancy between my steadfast confidence in Sanyo quality, and the abysmal performance of the TH2000S you now have in front of you. The only way I’ve been able to reconcile my cherished belief with this unpleasant experience is to assume that the incident is an isolated aberration and not a harbinger of a doomed company’s downward descent. In a world of letdowns at the hands of crooked Presidents and reckless baseball teams, of slipshod workmanship and planned obsolescence, I have always looked to Sanyo to “say it ain’t so.” Understanding that the mere mention of a warranty at this late date would be idiotic, I chose instead to place the fate of my mother’s aging Christmas gift in your just and able care. For the sake of maintaining a doddering old woman’s one link to the outside world, and to restore this consumer’s faith not only in the superiority of Japanese electronics, but also in the entire Free-Enterprise system, I implore you to seize this opportunity. Why not get into the holiday spirit and show a small part of America that it’s not wrong to believe big business has a conscience, not matter what future abominations Exxon, Dow, and Union Carbide may have in store; and that Sanyo, in particular, is -- and will always be -- a beacon of integrity whose light illuminates the happy faces of satisfied customers in all corners of the globe (even Antarctica). I feel that replacing Mom’s TH2000S with a cordless phone that works would be a small, but decisive, step in that direction. Tarry not, a chance like this may never appear again! Dare to go the extra mile. You won’t regret it!
Sincerely,
Jake Daehler
WGA Registered 2010
1/5/92
S.F.S. Corporation
Little Ferry, NJ 07643
Dear Sanyo Fixit Guys:
Boy, do you have your share of gall! I thought I had the market cornered, sending you my elderly, widowed mother’s eight-year-old piece-of-junk, “Handy TH2000S cordless phone,” which never worked properly and was retired to a box in a Florida closet within weeks of the Christmas it was intended to brighten. I realized that I didn’t have a legal leg to hop around on in terms of warranty, but I thought I might get lucky and catch you in the holiday spirit, especially since I included an unctuous, fawning letter to butter you up. I figured I’d receive something on the order of a “YES” or a “NO.” (Probably a “No,” which would have been okay.) Instead you sent me the enclosed estimate for over sixty dollars worth of work, which obviously should have been done before that lemon was stuffed into the box I optimistically purchased for approximately sixty-five dollars in the first place.
Nothing was done to the TH2000S: it wasn’t dropped, immersed, over-heated or abused in any way. The machine wasn’t really even used because it never worked, yet it apparently needed a $60.68 shot in the arm before I ever bought it. To make matters worse, the estimate said that if don’t get word to you pronto, you’ll send it back C.O.D. Wow! Why would I want to double my bad investment in a dysfunctional dinosaur when I could switch to a newer model from a more reliable company for the same money?
Anyway, I’ve just returned from a visit with my mother, who – luckily -- is not a big grudge holder, and I found your estimate, so I’m hurriedly responding before my deadline arrives. I have no intention of coughing up another nickel, so please don’t send my broken-down disgrace-of-a-phone back because I certainly won’t pay the C.O.D. I’d urge you to throw it in the nearest river were it not for the pollution factor. Why not recycle it or use it as a paperweight? Please forgive me if I never buy another Sanyo product even if I live to be 800 years old, but I am not now -- nor do I ever expect to be -- rich enough to flush money down the toilet.
Sincerely,
Jake Daehler
WGA Registered 2010
S.F.S. Corporation
Little Ferry, NJ 07643
Dear Sanyo:
Eight or nine years ago, I purchased the enclosed “Handy Telephone, model #TH2000S” in New York City as a Christmas present for my elderly widowed mother in Florida. Since that time, I assumed many of our warm, familial phone conversations were made via the aforementioned TH2000S. However, a recent visit home revealed that I was very much mistaken. I was surprised to find the gift phone not in use, but rather, piled in a dusty old box of Jimmy Carter memorabilia. My seventy year-old mother -- who doesn’t like to make waves -- sheepishly explained that it had never worked properly and had been given up for dead, less than a month after she’d received it. Apparently, her TH2000S wouldn’t hold a charge, had extremely limited range, was vulnerable to interference from virtually anything electric, would disconnect in the middle of calls and sounded off at random intervals as if possessed by some small telecommunications demon. I was stunned. Granted, my mother should have told me at the time, but more alarming was the discrepancy between my steadfast confidence in Sanyo quality, and the abysmal performance of the TH2000S you now have in front of you. The only way I’ve been able to reconcile my cherished belief with this unpleasant experience is to assume that the incident is an isolated aberration and not a harbinger of a doomed company’s downward descent. In a world of letdowns at the hands of crooked Presidents and reckless baseball teams, of slipshod workmanship and planned obsolescence, I have always looked to Sanyo to “say it ain’t so.” Understanding that the mere mention of a warranty at this late date would be idiotic, I chose instead to place the fate of my mother’s aging Christmas gift in your just and able care. For the sake of maintaining a doddering old woman’s one link to the outside world, and to restore this consumer’s faith not only in the superiority of Japanese electronics, but also in the entire Free-Enterprise system, I implore you to seize this opportunity. Why not get into the holiday spirit and show a small part of America that it’s not wrong to believe big business has a conscience, not matter what future abominations Exxon, Dow, and Union Carbide may have in store; and that Sanyo, in particular, is -- and will always be -- a beacon of integrity whose light illuminates the happy faces of satisfied customers in all corners of the globe (even Antarctica). I feel that replacing Mom’s TH2000S with a cordless phone that works would be a small, but decisive, step in that direction. Tarry not, a chance like this may never appear again! Dare to go the extra mile. You won’t regret it!
Sincerely,
Jake Daehler
WGA Registered 2010
1/5/92
S.F.S. Corporation
Little Ferry, NJ 07643
Dear Sanyo Fixit Guys:
Boy, do you have your share of gall! I thought I had the market cornered, sending you my elderly, widowed mother’s eight-year-old piece-of-junk, “Handy TH2000S cordless phone,” which never worked properly and was retired to a box in a Florida closet within weeks of the Christmas it was intended to brighten. I realized that I didn’t have a legal leg to hop around on in terms of warranty, but I thought I might get lucky and catch you in the holiday spirit, especially since I included an unctuous, fawning letter to butter you up. I figured I’d receive something on the order of a “YES” or a “NO.” (Probably a “No,” which would have been okay.) Instead you sent me the enclosed estimate for over sixty dollars worth of work, which obviously should have been done before that lemon was stuffed into the box I optimistically purchased for approximately sixty-five dollars in the first place.
Nothing was done to the TH2000S: it wasn’t dropped, immersed, over-heated or abused in any way. The machine wasn’t really even used because it never worked, yet it apparently needed a $60.68 shot in the arm before I ever bought it. To make matters worse, the estimate said that if don’t get word to you pronto, you’ll send it back C.O.D. Wow! Why would I want to double my bad investment in a dysfunctional dinosaur when I could switch to a newer model from a more reliable company for the same money?
Anyway, I’ve just returned from a visit with my mother, who – luckily -- is not a big grudge holder, and I found your estimate, so I’m hurriedly responding before my deadline arrives. I have no intention of coughing up another nickel, so please don’t send my broken-down disgrace-of-a-phone back because I certainly won’t pay the C.O.D. I’d urge you to throw it in the nearest river were it not for the pollution factor. Why not recycle it or use it as a paperweight? Please forgive me if I never buy another Sanyo product even if I live to be 800 years old, but I am not now -- nor do I ever expect to be -- rich enough to flush money down the toilet.
Sincerely,
Jake Daehler
WGA Registered 2010
Samsonite Luggage
6/29/94
Samsonite Corporation
Denver, Colorado 80239
Dear Samson Knights:
Can you say Déjà vu? In October, 1991, I bought a Samsonite backpack at a store called Luggage and Leather in Manhattan. Despite my $64.90 contribution to their continued success and prosperity, the store went belly-up. Sadly, the aforementioned backpack began to fall apart at around the same time. Memory places both events circa July of ‘92. By December, I located the register receipt and sent it along for your perusal. You sent me a new backpack, but kept the receipt.
Enclosed please find the replacement pack, which -- like the first one -- has finally gone the way of the dinosaurs. The strap is ripping off. I’ve been reasonably gentle with this backpack and never carried around anything particularly dense or cumbersome. Yet here we are again. Perhaps in the final analysis, vinyl should be eschewed in favor of tougher materials. Since the time limit on the original three-year warranty has yet to expire, I’m trusting you good and just people to send me -- what surely will be -- the last replacement. As stated earlier, there is no receipt because you kept it on the previous go-round, and the store -- which was on 52nd Street and Seventh Avenue -- is no more. Please hurry, as I’m eager to -- once again -- carry my burden on my back in a smart and sturdy piece of luggage built in the famous Samsonite tradition.
Sincerely,
Jake Daehler
WGA Registered 2010
Samsonite Corporation
Denver, Colorado 80239
Dear Samson Knights:
Can you say Déjà vu? In October, 1991, I bought a Samsonite backpack at a store called Luggage and Leather in Manhattan. Despite my $64.90 contribution to their continued success and prosperity, the store went belly-up. Sadly, the aforementioned backpack began to fall apart at around the same time. Memory places both events circa July of ‘92. By December, I located the register receipt and sent it along for your perusal. You sent me a new backpack, but kept the receipt.
Enclosed please find the replacement pack, which -- like the first one -- has finally gone the way of the dinosaurs. The strap is ripping off. I’ve been reasonably gentle with this backpack and never carried around anything particularly dense or cumbersome. Yet here we are again. Perhaps in the final analysis, vinyl should be eschewed in favor of tougher materials. Since the time limit on the original three-year warranty has yet to expire, I’m trusting you good and just people to send me -- what surely will be -- the last replacement. As stated earlier, there is no receipt because you kept it on the previous go-round, and the store -- which was on 52nd Street and Seventh Avenue -- is no more. Please hurry, as I’m eager to -- once again -- carry my burden on my back in a smart and sturdy piece of luggage built in the famous Samsonite tradition.
Sincerely,
Jake Daehler
WGA Registered 2010
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