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The new Post Office campaign.
"With us it's personal."
You're not joking. It's personal because every single person who's ever had anything delivered, by you, through their letterbox, has their very own, individual story to tell about what a bunch of useless fucks you are. It's not just "I've got this friend who had this happen to them," we've all had you screw something up. Personally.
When it gets to the stage where people are no longer prepared to mail order from certain places because those stores clearly mark their packages, making it so much easier for the thieving cunts you've got working for you to know that there's something worth half-inching in them, it should be blatantly obvious that there's a pretty serious problem.
So when I see your ads with a happy-go-lucky postie giving everybody a cheery smile and jauntily making his way across fields and motorways in order to ensure that Little Jenny gets that new CD she ordered from Amazon, or Granny Jones gets that letter from her grandson, it simply makes me want to upchuck. If they were realistic in any way, Little Jenny's CD would never have made it to her house and would instead be put up on eBay within the week by somebody who works in a sorting office, while Granny Jones would pick the post up off her doormat (at about 2PM in the afternoon, if the delivery times around here are anything to go by) and discover that the ham-fisted prick who'd been plucked, at random, to do that round on that day had smushed it through the letterbox, leaving it scrumpled and torn. He'd probably have opened it up first, though, to check if there was any cash hidden away in it. |
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