Lincoln TrudeauMY ADDRESSMY CITY, PROVINCEMY COUNTRY/POSTAL CODEMY PHONE NUMBERMarch 10, 1997Columbia House
P.O. Box 63003 St. Brm. B
Toronto, Ontario
M7Y 3B3
To Whom It May Concern,
I regret to inform you that I unable to join Columbia House again because I am dead. In other words, deceased. My financial stability at this point is a little shaky. I have written this letter before my untimely demise and have left instructions with my estate to mail it to you, knowing full well you would bother me again at some point.
You said in your latest letter to me that as a former member, I'm like FAMILY to you. How comforting. Please tell me why I would want you people as a family when you weren't even decent enough to show up at my funeral. I even asked that a dozen-odd seats be reserved just for you and it seems you just got too busy to pay your respects. I could just cry, except I'm dead.
Anyway, since I've left my relatives in charge of most of this letter, I've just left a bunch of blanks for them to fill in. This letter has been done in a cut-and-paste form-letter style that I'm sure you're familiar with.
For your convenience, I left in my will a detailed list of every CD I would have wanted during my lifetime. However, after my family members looked over the list of selections you sent me, it would appear only 5 of the 300 little stickers are CDs I like and the rest are crap. Great. First I die, and now I get asked to buy junk.
Apparently, in the latest letter you wrote me, you also told me that you don't offer 11 free CDs to everyone. Of course you don't. Only to anyone who has access to any magazine published in the Western world or whose name has been sold to your mailing list. And now, apparently, even corpses. I'm flattered. Really.
At this point, my ears are probably infested with maggots and I doubt they'd be able to hear much of anything. Also, my eardrums gave out recently. I have reason to believe they did so right around the time my heart stopped beating. Trust me, I'm as annoyed about it as you are.
Well I hope you're happy. You vultures spent years luring me into your Utopian world where everyone gets 11 CDs free. And now I've gone on to the Promised Land and once again, most of the music sucks. Any future correspondence can be mailed to: Lincoln Trudeau, c/o Mount Pleasant Cemetery, Row 14, Plot #9. The one that has a headstone reading: "Even in death, I escapeth not."
That would about do it. If I rise from the grave, I promise the first thing I'll do is run to the nearest phone booth and give you a shout. Until then, do your song and dance for someone who gives a damn.
Ecstatically yours,Lincoln Trudeau
