Letter to the Players of Grimsby Town and more Great Letters

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  1. I'm not aware that this has been posted but it's doing the rounds and I thought I'd brighten your morning and share it with you.

    This is an actual letter to the Footballers of Grimsby Town FC from a disgruntled suppoter. Feel free to post any other rantastic letters!

    "Dear Players of Grimsby Town FC

    I am writing with regard to my absolute astonishment and disbelief as to the sheer magnitude of your complete lack of talent and failure to carry out the job for which you are paid to do. I am not aware of any swear word or other derogatory phrase in my current vocabulary which comes close to a description of your 'performance' (and I use that term loosely) this afternoon, but let me just say that you have collectively reached a level of inadequacy and ineptitude that neither I nor modern science had previously considered possible.

    In fact I recall a time, in my youth, when I decided to call in sick at work and instead spent the entire day in my one bedroom flat wearing nothing but my underpants, eating toast and w*nking furiously over second-rate Scandinavian porn. Yet somehow, I still managed to contribute more to my employer in that one Andrex-filled day than you complete bunch of toss-baskets have contributed to this club in your entire time here.

    I would genuinely like to know how you pathetic little p*ssflaps sleep at night, knowing full well that you have taken my money and that of several thousand others and delivered precisely f*ck all in return. I run a business myself, and I believe I could take any 4,000 of my customers at random; burn down their houses, impregnate their wives and then dismember their children before systematically sending them back in the post, limb-by-limb, and still ensure a level of customer satisfaction which exceeds that which I have experienced at Blundell Park at any time so far this season.

    You are a total disgrace, not only to your profession, not only to the human race, but to nature itself. This may sound like an exaggeration, but believe me when I say that I have passed kidney stones which have brought me a greater level of pleasure and entertainment than watching each of you worthless excuses for professional footballers attempt to play a game you are clearly incapable of playing, week-in, week-out.

    I considered, for a second, that I was perhaps being a little too harsh. But then I recalled that I have blindly given you all the benefit of the doubt for too long now. Yes, for too long you have failed to earn the air you've been breathing by offering any kind of tangible quality either as footballers or as people in general. As such, I feel it's only fair that your supply runs out forthwith.

    I trust, at this precise moment in time, that Mr Fenty is in his office tapping away on the Easyjet web site booking you all one-way flights to Zurich, complete with an overnight stay with our cheese eating friends at Dignitas. Don't bother packing your toothbrush - you won't need it.

    In the event that our beloved chairman can't afford the expense (understandable given that he's soon going to have to assemble a new squad from scratch), then I am prepared to sell my family (including my unborn child) to a dubious consortium of Middle Eastern businessmen in order to pay for the flights. Christ, I'll drive you there myself, one-by one, without sleep, if I have to.

    Failing that, understanding that most dubious Middle Eastern businessmen are tied-up purchasing Premier League football clubs, I ask you to please take matters into your hands. Use your imagination, guys - strangle yourselves or cover yourself in tinfoil and take a fork to a nearby plug socket, or something. Just put yourselves and us fans out of our collective misery.

    So, in summary, you pack of repugnant, sputum-filled, invertebrate bástards; leave this club now and don't you f*cking dare look back. You've consistently demonstrated less passion and desire than can commonly be found within the contents of a sloth's scrótum, so frankly you can just all f*ck off - don't pass go, don't collect your wages, don't ever come back to this town again.

    I look forward to you serving me at my local McDonald's drive-thru in the near future.

    Yours sincerely"
  2. Hello, IT? Yes, can I order a new keyboard? One without tea and semi-masticated biscuits all over it. thank you.

    ha ha ha ha ha
  3. there is nothing new here. Grimsby has always been rubbish. In the 1960's I used to go and support them and they loitered at the bottom of the fourth division then. Ther wasn't a McD to send them to then.
  4. There is a legendary one called 'footballers of today' in which today's players are compared to those of yesteryear. I dont have a copy, sorry, perhaps someone else has.
  5. They did score one of the best goals I've in a long time last night. Mind you it was an ex Leeds player that did it!
  6. I was caught by a Copper climbing over the wall at Grimsby Town once.

    B'stard made me get back in and watch the rest of the game.............................
  7. Another thread which has been innundated with traffic; thanks for your spirited and enthusiastic response guys - I knew I could count on all four Grimsby supporters to pitch in, what an asset they are to their club. Well done! Anyway, as we attempt to step away from the crowd and yet another thread of the "I'm joining in January, I'm a tad overweight, (18st), can I still eat mince pies and join the commando's?" or, "Gordo, what a spaz" variety; let's hurtle into the unknown once again with a new letter.

    This one did the rounds a while ago but not I think, on ARRSE. It's ommission may have something to do with it being about pigs and a complete lack of interest in the animal amongst site members. I like them. In fact, I've got three and they're off for the chop on Thursday. Actually, the War Office is sending them off which is a bit grim; I'm quite fond of them and I'm contempleting liberating them. The pigs or the wife? Now there's a decision and lets face it, not only are the pigs cheaper to run; they're less warlike in their disposition and don't tend to bump the car in Sainsburys car park. We'll see.

    Here is the letter then, from a Mr Nigel Johnson-Hill to the Secretary of State,


    Rt Hon David Miliband MP
    Secretary of State.
    Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (DEFRA),
    Nobel House
    17 Smith Square
    SW1P 3JR

    16 July 2009

    Dear Secretary of State,

    My friend, who is in farming at the moment, recently received a cheque for £3,000 from the Rural Payments Agency for not rearing pigs.. I would now like to join the "not rearing pigs" business.

    In your opinion, what is the best kind of farm not to rear pigs on, and which is the best breed of pigs not to rear? I want to be sure I approach this endeavour in keeping with government policies.

    I would prefer not to rear bacon pigs, but if this is not the type you want not rearing, I will just as gladly not rear porkers. Are there any advantages in not rearing rare breeds such as Saddlebacks or Gloucester Old Spots, or are there too many people already not rearing these?

    As I see it, the hardest part of this programme will be keeping an accurate record of how many pigs I haven't reared. Are there any Government or Local Authority courses on this?

    My friend is very satisfied with this business. He has been rearing pigs for forty years or so, and the best he ever made on them was £1,422 in 1968. That is - until this year, when he received a cheque for not rearing any.

    If I get £3,000 for not rearing 50 pigs, will I get £6,000 for not rearing 100? I plan to operate on a small scale at first, holding myself down to about 4,000 pigs not raised, which will mean about £240,000 for the first year. As I become more expert in not rearing pigs, I plan to be more ambitious, perhaps increasing to, say, 40,000 pigs not reared in my second year, for which I should expect about £2.4 million from your department. Incidentally, I wonder if I would be eligible to receive tradable carbon credits for all these pigs not producing harmful and polluting methane gases?

    Another point: These pigs that I plan not to rear will not eat 2,000 tonnes of cereals. I understand that you also pay farmers for not growing crops. Will I qualify for payments for not growing cereals to not feed the pigs I don't rear?

    I am also considering the "not milking cows" business, so please send any information you have on that too. Please could you also include the current Defra advice on set aside fields? Can this be done on an e-commerce basis with virtual fields (of which I seem to have several thousand hectares)?

    In view of the above you will realise that I will be totally unemployed, and will therefore qualify for unemployment benefits. I shall of course be voting for your party at the next general election.

    Yours faithfully,

    Nigel Johnson-Hill
  8. As I'm an Irons fan I can only smile at how well supported our local rivals the Codheads are :D
  9. While the Duke of Wellington was engaged in battle with the forces of Napoleon, and messages were sent back and forth between the army front line and the government office, one particular letter certainly got Wellington's attention.

    Written in 1812, this was his reply to London:


    Whilst marching from Portugal to a position which commands the approach to Madrid and the French forces, my officers have been diligently complying with your requests which have been sent by H.M. ship from London to Lisbon and thence by dispatch to our headquarters.

    We have enumerated our saddles, bridles, tents and tent poles, and all manner of sundry items for which His Majesty's Government holds me accountable. I have dispatched reports on the character, wit, and spleen of every officer. Each item and every farthing has been accounted for, with two regrettable exceptions for which I beg your indulgence.

    Unfortunately the sum of one shilling and ninepence remains unaccounted for in one infantry battalion's petty cash and there has been a hideous confusion as the the number of jars of raspberry jam issued to one cavalry regiment during a sandstorm in western Spain.
    This reprehensible carelessness may be related to the pressure of circumstance, since we are war with France, a fact which may come as a bit of a surprise to you gentlemen in Whitehall.

    This brings me to my present purpose, which is to request elucidation of my instructions from His Majesty's Government so that I may better understand why I am dragging an army over these barren plains. I construe that perforce it must be one of two alternative duties, as given below. I shall pursue either one with the best of my ability, but I cannot do both:

    1. To train an army of uniformed British clerks in Spain for the benefit of the accountants and copy-boys in London or perchance.

    2. To see to it that the forces of Napoleon are driven out of Spain.

    Your most obedient servant,

  10. I've been saving this, and all those who are familiar with it will no doubt smile benignly as it gets another outing. Truely one of the greats.......

    It was written during the war by the British Ambassador to Moscow, to Lord Pembroke at The Foreign Office in London and is a fantastic example of dry understatement.

    My Dear Reggie,

    In these dark days man tends to look for little shafts of light from Heaven. My days are probably darker than yours, and I need, my God I do, all the light I can get. But I am a decent fellow, and I do not want to be mean about what little brightness is shed upon me from time to time. So I propose to share with you a tiny flash that has illuminated my sombre life, and tell you that God has given me a new Turkish colleague whose card tells me he is called Mustapha Kunt.

    We all feel like that, Reggie, now and then, especially when Spring is upon upon us, but few of us would care to put it on our cards. It takes a Turk to do that.

    Sir Archibald Clerk Kerr
    H.M. Ambassador, Moscow
  11. Apparently the complainant was not only offered an apology, but a job as Virgin's meal taster and critic!

    Dear Mr Branson

    REF: Mumbai to Heathrow 7th December 2008

    I love the Virgin brand, I really do which is why I continue to use it despite a series of unfortunate incidents over the last few years. This latest incident takes the biscuit.

    Ironically, by the end of the flight I would have gladly paid over a thousand rupees for a single biscuit following the culinary journey of hell I was subjected to at thehands of your corporation.

    Look at this Richard. Just look at it: [see image 1, above].

    I imagine the same questions are racing through your brilliant mind as were racing through mine on that fateful day. What is this? Why have I been given it? What have I done to deserve this? And, which one is the starter, which one is the desert?

    You don't get to a position like yours Richard with anything less than a generous sprinkling of observational power so I KNOW you will have spotted the tomato next to the two yellow shafts of sponge on the left. Yes, it's next to the sponge shaft without the green paste. That's got to be the clue hasn't it. No sane person would serve a desert with a tomato would they. Well answer me this Richard, what sort of animal would serve a desert with peas in: [see image 2, above].

    I know it looks like a baaji but it's in custard Richard, custard. It must be the pudding. Well you'll be fascinated to hear that it wasn't custard. It was a sour gel with a clear oil on top. It's only redeeming feature was that it managed to be so alien to my palette that it took away the taste of the curry emanating from our miscellaneous central cuboid of beige matter. Perhaps the meal on the left might be the desert after all.

    Anyway, this is all irrelevant at the moment. I was raised strictly but neatly by my parents and if they knew I had started desert before the main course, a sponge shaft would be the least of my worries. So lets peel back the tin-foil on the main dish and see what's on offer.

    I'll try and explain how this felt. Imagine being a twelve year old boy Richard. Now imagine it's Christmas morning and you're sat their with your final present to open. It's a big one, and you know what it is. It's that Goodmans stereo you picked out the catalogue and wrote to Santa about.

    Only you open the present and it's not in there. It's your hamster Richard. It's your hamster in the box and it's not breathing. That's how I felt when I peeled back the foil and saw this: [see image 3, above].

    Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking it's more of that Baaji custard. I admit I thought the same too, but no. It's mustard Richard. MUSTARD. More mustard than any man could consume in a month. On the left we have a piece of broccoli and some peppers in a brown glue-like oil and on the right the chef had prepared some mashed potato. The potato masher had obviously broken and so it was decided the next best thing would be to pass the potatoes through the digestive tract of a bird.

    Once it was regurgitated it was clearly then blended and mixed with a bit of mustard. Everybody likes a bit of mustard Richard.

    By now I was actually starting to feel a little hypoglycaemic. I needed a sugar hit. Luckily there was a small cookie provided. It had caught my eye earlier due to it's baffling presentation: [see image 4, above].

    It appears to be in an evidence bag from the scene of a crime. A CRIME AGAINST BLOODY COOKING. Either that or some sort of back-street underground cookie, purchased off a gun-toting maniac high on his own supply of yeast. You certainly wouldn't want to be caught carrying one of these through customs. Imagine biting into a piece of brass Richard. That would be softer on the teeth than the specimen above.

    I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was relax but obviously I had to sit with that mess in front of me for half an hour. I swear the sponge shafts moved at one point.

    Once cleared, I decided to relax with a bit of your world-famous onboard entertainment. I switched it on: [see image 5, above].

    I apologise for the quality of the photo, it's just it was incredibly hard to capture Boris Johnson's face through the flickering white lines running up and down the screen. Perhaps it would be better on another channel: [see image 6, above].

    Is that Ray Liotta? A question I found myself asking over and over again throughout the gruelling half-hour I attempted to watch the film like this. After that I switched off. I'd had enough. I was the hungriest I'd been in my adult life and I had a splitting headache from squinting at a crackling screen.

    My only option was to simply stare at the seat in front and wait for either food, or sleep. Neither came for an incredibly long time. But when it did it surpassed my wildest expectations: [see image 7, above].

    Yes! It's another crime-scene cookie. Only this time you dunk it in the white stuff.

    Richard.... What is that white stuff? It looked like it was going to be yoghurt. It finally dawned on me what it was after staring at it. It was a mixture between the Baaji custard and the Mustard sauce. It reminded me of my first week at university. I had overheard that you could make a drink by mixing vodka and refreshers. I lied to my new friends and told them I'd done it loads of times. When I attempted to make the drink in a big bowl it formed a cheese Richard, a cheese. That cheese looked a lot like your baaji-mustard.

    So that was that Richard. I didn't eat a bloody thing. My only question is: How can you live like this? I can't imagine what dinner round your house is like, it must be like something out of a nature documentary.

    As I said at the start I love your brand, I really do. It's just a shame such a simple thing could bring it crashing to it's knees and begging for sustenance.

    Yours Sincererly

  12. This thread is great.

    As a former user of NTL, I wish I had written this letter.

    Dear Cretins,
    I have been an NTL customer since 9th July 2001, when I signed up for
    your 3-in-one deal for cable TV, cable modem, and telephone. During this
    three-month period I have encountered inadequacy of service which I had
    not previously considered possible, as well as ignorance and stupidity
    of monolithic proportions. Please allow me to provide specific details,
    so that you can either pursue your professional perogative, and seek to
    rectify these difficulties - or more likely (I suspect) so that you can
    have some entertaining reading material as you while away the working
    day smoking B&H and drinking vendor-coffee on the bog in your office:
    My initial installation was cancelled without warning, resulting in my
    spending an entire Saturday sitting on my fat arse waiting for your
    technician to arrive. When he did not arrive, I spent a further 57
    minutes listening to your infuriating hold music, and the even more
    annoying Scottish robot woman telling me to look at your helpful
    I alleviated the boredom by playing with my t..ticles for a few minutes
    - an activity at which you are no-doubt both familiar and highly adept.
    The rescheduled installation then took place some two weeks later,
    although the technician did forget to bring a number of vital tools -
    such as a drill-bit, and his cerebrum. Two weeks later, my cable modem
    had still not arrived. After 15 telephone calls over 4 weeks my modem
    arrived... six weeks after I had requested it, and begun to pay for it.
    I estimate your internet server's downtime is roughly 35%... hours
    between about 6pm -midnight, Mon-Fri, and most of the weekend. I am
    still waiting for my telephone connection. I have made 9 calls on my
    mobile to your no-help line, and have been unhelpfully transferred to a
    variety of disinterested individuals, who are it seems also highly
    skilled bollock jugglers.
    I have been informed that a telephone line is available (and someone
    will call me back); that no telephone line is available (and someone
    will call me back); that I will be transferred to someone who knows
    whether or not a telephone line is available (and then been cut off);
    that I will be transferred to someone (and then been redirected to an
    answer machine informing me that your office is closed); that I will be
    transferred to someone and then been redirected to the irritating
    Scottish robot woman...and several other variations on this theme.
    Doubtless you are no longer reading this letter, as you have at least a
    thousand other dissatisfied customers to ignore, and also another one of
    those crucially important t..ticle-moments to attend to. Frankly I don't
    care, it's far more satisfying as a customer to voice my frustration's
    in print than to shout them at your unending hold music. Forgive me,
    therefore, if I continue.
    I thought BT were s.it, that they had attained the holy piss-pot of godawful
    customer relations, that no-one, anywhere, ever, could be more
    disinterested, less helpful or more obstructive to delivering service to
    their customers. That's why I chose NTL, and because, well, there isn't
    anyone else is there? How surprised I therefore was, when I discovered
    to my considerable dissatisfaction and disappointment what a useless
    shower of bastards you truly are. You are sputum-filled pieces of
    distended rectum incompetents of the highest order.
    British Telecom - w..nkers though they are - shine like brilliant beacons
    of success, in the filthy puss-filled mire of your seemingly limitless
    inadequacy. Suffice to say that I have now given up on my futile and
    foolhardy quest to receive any kind of service from you. I suggest that
    you cease any potential future attempts to extort payment from me for
    the services which you have so pointedly and catastrophically failed to
    deliver - any such activity will be greeted initially with hilarity and
    disbelief quickly be replaced by derision, and even perhaps bemused
    rage. I enclose two small deposits, selected with great care from my
    cats litter tray, as an expression of my utter and complete contempt for
    both you and your pointless company. I sincerely hope that they have not
    become desiccated during transit - they were satisfyingly moist at the
    time of posting, and I would feel considerable disappointment if you did
    not experience both their rich aroma and delicate texture. Consider them
    the very embodiment of my feelings towards NTL, and its worthless
    Have a nice day - may it be the last in you miserable short life, you
    irritatingly incompetent and infuriatingly unhelpful bunch of *****.
  13. Last para is priceless