Dear Evil Cable Corporation,

First off, please just let me apologize for writing this on the back of a Burger King bag; I have been unable to order my favorite stationary for the last week or so, because our Internet is out, and I believe it to be all your fault.

Okay, maybe it was our fault at first. Maybe we spliced a cable we shouldn’t have in an effort to supply precious, life-giving cable television to another room of our house, so Ben would no longer be forced to sit through countless episodes of I Love Money on VHI. We did that, and then the Internet didn’t work. Okay. Our bad.

Then we had to call you for help, which really means talking to The Demonic Machine—one of those recorded ladies that asks you questions like “Did you turn off your computer?” and then, when you scream at her, “YES, I TURNED OFF THE FUCKING COMPUTER, YOU PRERECORDED RETARD!”, she says, “sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

And when we finally got to a real person, we were informed that no one was coming to fix the Internet until at least Saturday. Thus, an entire week passed with Ben and I falling further and further into Internet-deprived depression and despair, until finally our house was like the last few days in Lord of the Flies, with an old computer monitor stuck in our front yard with a crudely shaved stake.

But then—salvation! In the form of Randy, the Perfectly Acceptable Cable Repairman, who had the whole problem fixed within ten minutes, giving us a full day of glorious, glorious Internet access. Thank you, Randy! If you ever return to my home, you will be greeted at the door by several comely virgins, as a mere “thanks” can’t possibly explain our gratitude.

Sadly, though, it was not to be.

Yesterday evening, I returned to my computer after a long day of painting Ben’s basement office only to find the ominous absence of the “online” button from the front of the modem. No service!

And so I ask you, Evil Cable Corporation, what you intend to do to make this right. Merely fixing our Internet is no longer enough—I have spent so long without it that I have become feral, getting my gossip fix by following the exploits of Lucky on the back of my Lucky Charms box and crafting e-mails from leaves and twigs I find in my backyard. It may be too late for me—I might actually have to go back to living off the Internet grid, a terrifying prospect that I haven’t had to look in the face since 1996.

Look at me! I’m even having to blog from work. FROM WORK! Every blogger’s nightmare—what if the boss catches me? Or that weird coworker that always peers at my computer as if she’s trying to see into my soul? I cannot allow this to continue!

My first request is the hearts of each of your children brought to me on a platter made of the deeds to all your homes. I will stick a leaf in your mailbox once I have come up with a second request.

All best,
Kim