To whom it may concern;
I am writing in regard to an air conditioner produced by your company, the Goldstar M8003R.
Sometime last summer the people across the street gave us this air conditioner, which had previously been sitting in their garage. We were talking in their driveway and I mentioned the heat, and that we didn’t have an AC. Then I said I’d probably head out to buy one tonight. Then Rick, who’s from Georgia, started telling me about the one in his garage and insisting I take it.
So Rick takes me into his garage and unveils this AC for me. “Works fine, should cool down your whole house. Only thing is it’s noisy, but if you don’t mind that it’ll do just fine.”
Grateful to be spared the $300 expense, I dismissed his warning. “We shouldn’t mind the noise. Thanks!”
And that’s how your Air Conditioner came to be sitting in my window.
And I am writing to you now, one year later, from within the icy sonic oblivion this object has created in my home. This machine is literally the loudest and most persistent noise I have ever encountered. It is all encompassing. It is a womb of rattling plastic racket.
It cancels all thought and conversation within 20 feet of it.
It causes us to listen to our TV at maximum volume, and then–when it suddenly clicks off–to be assaulted by the loudness of the TV and have to scramble to find the remote and lower it, just so we can enjoy 10 minutes of normal environment before the jet thruster in the window roars to life again, swallowing important bits of dialogue and critical plot points.
We have been forced to basically give up on the TV. Conversation is also useless because the machine has reduced us to agitated gesturing cave people. After you’ve said “WHAT?” to someone 4 times in a row, whatever they were trying to say becomes “FUCK YOU.” So now we’re pretty much left to stare at each other blankly inside the blast chamber that is our 12 x 12 living room, knowing that we are trapped inside this box with your H-Bomb for the next 3 months because outside the temperature is 102, due no doubt in part to global warming and the massive amounts of freon your howling nightmarefuck murder engines have pumped into the atmosphere over the past 30 years. They say if you can’t hear your own pulse you’re deaf. I’m happy to report that at this moment I can hear neither my own pulse nor the sound of myself screaming inside my own mind.
Imagine for a moment the kind of sleep one gets in a house that contains an air conditioner like this. I can only assume it’s identical to what prisoners experience while undergoing sleep deprivation torture. What I’m saying is that your machine is a human rights violation, which you are currently charging $299 for on Amazon.com.
The cat is terrified of it. The dog stands in front of it and barks every time it kicks on. That is, I assume the dog is barking because I see its mouth opening and closing.
Your machine is the Nothing that strives to swallow all things. Your machine is a constant reminder that death is waiting for me and everyone I love. Your machine is absolutely watering secret tumors in my body every single day. Your machine is a retarded orphan that you sent into the world to die slowly and mutilate all beauty in the meantime. Don’t bother sending me a coupon, because I believe you are the source of all suffering on earth. May your children die before you. May a superior model AC drop out of a window and crush your body on the way to your office tomorrow, and may it fall soundlessly through the air on the way to do it’s work.