Dear sirs: I received your most recent letter, threatening certain and swift legal action if I do not surrender payment in the amount of twenty four dollars and sixty-five cents for the DVD of the film Daddy Day Camp.
Let’s get one thing straight. Daddy Day Camp is a film I did not order. Rather, it was inflicted upon me against my will. When I called your offices for an explanation, I was told by one of your customer service reps–”Denny” or something equally effete was his name–that this was due to my inability to return the dated postcard in a timely manner.
Undeterred, I attempted to return this turgid piece of so-called entertainment to you last week, only to find it again in my mailbox, with a note from your offices saying that the film was mine, and that returning it to you was not an option.
My question is: Are you threatening me, Columbia Record and Tape Club? Because if you are, it’s only fair to warn you that I don’t take such threats lightly–as the teammates who had to talk me out of following A-Rod’s limo back to his hotel with six hunting knifes and a tactical nuclear weapon strapped to my back after game six of the 2004 ALCS will attest. I was part of a team that pulled victory from the jaws of defeat in front of fifty thousand mentally challenged thugs at Yankee Stadium. So please forgive me if your overtures to retrieve a Cuba Gooding Jr. flick don’t have me pissing bright yellow streams of terror.
You want the money that badly? I invite you to come over to my ranch to personally retrieve it. I can’t guarantee that you won’t be shot full of arrows, death and fury the moment you set foot on my property. But I can guarantee that’s the only chance you’ll ever have of getting your f@#king Daddy Day Camp back.
My advice is to just walk away, Columbia House Record and Tape Club. For the sake of your employees, and the children who love them, just walk away.
Michael August Timlin