Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Dear Yahoo

Dear people at Yahoo who obviously hate me,

I would like to follow proper format of good letter writing and start my communique to you with a pleasantry before getting to the meat of the matter, so here it is: I have a pair of pink PJs that make me feel like a princess. They're comfy and cute and have no irritating lace.

Now that that's out of the way, can we get down to business? Because I've got something to say, and I want y'all to get the message loud and clear.

Hey, people at Yahoo who obviously hate me, cut it out with all the fancy-pants ads all over the place already!

Cut. It.Out.NOW.

If I see another taut tummy or dancing penguin or animated bear or cellulite-bedecked ass on my screen ever, ever again, you put me at risk of putting a fist through my laptop screen.

You know, here's the real truth of it: I don't really WANT to know how to lose 10 pounds in a week or who Bob Greene is or what the frigging mortgage rates are in my home state.

I especially do not want to have to wait until the freaking stupid ads LOAD all their animated shills before I can access my e-mail or read the news (um, comics, but you get the point).

So, Yahoo, my plea to you is to stop it. Stop it now.

Those ads are like a tired hungry toddler in the grocery store check out line. They're like a blister that forms during the first mile of a 5-mile hike. They're like waiting for the tollbooths because the EZ pass lanes are out of service. They're like having to provide your driver's license and phone numer to the grocery clerk who has already swiped your super-saver secret pass card, who should already KNOW that infomation! They're like those ceiling-mounted speakers at WalMart that blast ads and insipid music directly into your pineal gland, stimluating the buying urge in a haze of blood rage. They're like a tag on the neck of a new shirt, or socks that bunch up around the toes, or sleeves that are too tight, or accidentally grinding your teeth, or not being able to sleep in the middle of the night.

In short, Yahoo, those daggone ads like every single other annoying thing that gets in the way of smooth efficient progress toward a goal, only they're worse, because they're RIGHT IN MY FACE AND I CAN'T GET AWAY FROM THEM! I'm powerless to stop them, which makes me annoyed with a capital "NOYED."

So please, Yahoo, won't you just stop it already with the raindrops of interest rates, with the parade of toned honies (and, by the way, where are the hot MEN on these ads?), with the panting dogs of fiduciary opportunity, with the FREAKING STUPID PEOPLE DANCING ON ROOFTOPS whose butt waggles and flinging dreadlocks make me motion sick and worried for their safety every time I see them prancing along the red tiles of their newly financed homes.

If you won't do it for me, then for the sake of the dancing people, Yahoo, you must stop the ads. They could fall and break some sillouhetted something, and that's gotta hurt and might be a lawsuit in the making.

The sooner you stop, the better, because I can feel the hot ball of irritation swelling in my chest, and pretty soon it's going to be a very nasty case of ire indeed, which causes chafing and rash and is an entirely unpleasant experience for all involved, one of whom is going to be someone in your ads department who will be getting a rather nasty letter from me, your loyal and very regular user.

You don't want that, do you? Do you?

Think about it, and if you know what's good for you and me both, I can look forward to an ad-free life in the very near future.

Like, NOW would be good.


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