Dear Bank of Mine,
I want to state for the record that I hate your guts. While I appreciate that you keep my money in a safe place thus enabling me to maintain the already delicate control of my mattress stability, that still does not excuse all of your other annoying mailings. Why do you insist on offering me everything under the sun? I do not want your credit cards or your special accounts. Most of all I do not want to convince my friends that banking with you would be a good idea for a $25 plastic gift card. Let's be honest, I bet I couldn't even convince your employees to bank with you for $25. You are so freaking annoying. I wish I had a mailbox that would chew up anything with your logo on it. That would be swell. It could have a little basket underneath to catch all of the little pieces of paper. I'd empty the little basket into an envelope and send the pieces back to you, or maybe I should take all the scraps of paper and spell out DIE! on my kitchen floor. I could take a picture of that and send it to you. Would that work out for you? 'Cause I'm thinking it might be pretty satisfying for me.