This, apparently, is an actual letter received by the UK Passport Office. A big word of thanks to Michelle B for this one.
Dear Sirs,
I’m in the process of renewing my passport, and still cannot believe how is it that Sky Television has my address and telephone number and knows that I bought a bleeding satellite dish from them back in 1988, and yet, the Government is still asking me where I was bloody born and on what date.
Do you guys do this by hand?
My birth date you have on my pension book.
It’s on all the income tax forms I’ve filed for the past 30 years.
It is on my National Health card.
My driving licence.
My car insurance.
On the last eight damn passports I’ve had.
It’s on all those stupid customs declaration forms I’ve had to fill out before being allowed off the plane over the last 30 years.
All those insufferable census forms.
Would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother’s name is Mary Anne, my father’s name is Robert and I’d be absolutely astounded if that WOULD ever change between now and when I die!!
I apologise, I’m really pissed off this morning.
Between you an’ me, I’ve had enough of this bullshit!
You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my bleeding address!!
What is going on? Do you have a gang of neanderthal arseholes workin’ there?
Look at my damn picture.
Do I look like Bin Laden?
I don’t want to dig up Yasser Arafat, for shit sakes. I just want to go and park my arse on some sandy beach somewhere.
And would someone please tell me, why would you give a shit whether I plan on visiting a farm in the next 15 days?
If I ever got the urge to do something wierd to a chicken or a goat, believe you me, you’d be the last f****** people I’d want to tell!
Well, I have to go now,’cause I have to go to the other end of the poxy city to get another f****** copy of my birth certificate, to the tune of £30.
Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot to assist in the issuance of a new passport the same day?
Nooooooooooooo, that’d be too damn easy and maybe make sense.
You’d rather have us running all over the f******’ place like chickens with our heads cut off, then WE have to find some arsehole to confirm that it’s really me on the damn picture – you know, the one where we’re not allowed to smile?! (bureaucratic f******’ morons)
Hey, do you know why we couldn’t smile if we wanted to? Because we’re totally pissed off!
Signed
An Irate Citizen
P.S. Remember what I said above about the picture and getting someone to confirm that it’s me?
Well, my family has been in this country since 1776 …
I have served in the military for something over 30 years and have had full security clearances over 25 of those years enabling me to undertake highly secretive missions all over the world.
However, I have to get someone ‘important’ to verify who I am – you know, someone like my doctor ..
WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED IN FRIGGIN` PAKISTAN!
Back in the deep dark ages, about the mid-1980s, when one used to receive hand-written tax calculations and associated correspondence from the Inland Revenue, I had a form sent to me asking me to provide in my National Insurance number by filling in the section at the bottom of the letter. At the top of the letter, the person sending it to me had written the Inland Revenue file reference for the letter. This reference was my National Insurance number.
Julian,
Sometimes you wonder what they are thinking about when they send out these letters etc. Must be holidays, families dogs, cats. Take your pick,
Will
This is an American joke letter, hastily adapted to look British. The clue is in the year at the bottom.
Richard,
Many thanks for the update on this one
Will