Wednesday, 21 December 2011

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day Nine

Date: 21st December 2023
Subject:  Replicator fault

Dear Mr Cochrane

I apologise for my previous mail, but as you can imagine, I have been under a certain amount of stress just lately.  I have barely slept a wink, and my diet now consists almost entirely of hen and goose eggs, since your machine will absolutely NOT produce anything other than the twelve days of Christmas ‘gifts’.  I cannot even send out for food any more as the geese (who are now quite numerous and very aggressive), along with my somewhat wild-eyed and dishevelled appearance, has scared off all the delivery people.

Today, the bowels of Hell, to which your infernal machine apparently has a direct connection, spat up the usual, plus nine ladies dancing.  I say ‘ladies’, but the troupe of tawdry strumpets that came gyrating suggestively through the living-room this morning was anything but ladylike.  The best that can be said for it is that the increasingly smug yahoo who has been removing the pear trees each day (he has just bought himself a small yacht, by the way) and the grinning ape that pumps out the basement enjoyed the display so much that they offered me a modest reduction in their bills.  Small mercies, i suppose.

The neighbours are now more or less constantly complaining about the noise and the barnyard smell, and even the offer of free milk and eggs does not seem to placate them. 

The police were called after a number of the milkmaids (more like fishwives from their language) got into an altercation with Mr Jenkins opposite when he complained that one of the cows had dented his car.  I will now, it seems, have to pay for that, plus the replacement of his front window after a milk pail was hurled through it.

I am at my wits’ end.  The dancers came equipped with tambourines with which to accompany themselves in their wanton cavorting.  These, they have been employing without mercy since they arrived, adding to the general surreal cacophony of honks, hisses, squawks, moos and of course my own quiet sobbing.  

For the love of all that is holy, please send someone (a female might be safe from the sex-starved milkmaids and lascivious dancers) to disconnect this mechanical abomination.

Yours truly

Edward Meeks

Date: 21st December 2023
Subject:  Re: Replicator fault

Dear Mr Meeks

I am very mindful of the distress you are suffering at this time and thank you for your apology, which I gladly accept.

I have arranged for one of our engineers (a female, as you suggested) to visit you tomorrow at 11:00. 

I trust this is satisfactory.

Yours truly

Gerard Cochrane
Service Manager


  1. You have me howling with laughter..sheer brilliance, this series of posts!

  2. the troupe of tawdry strumpets that came gyrating suggestively through the living-room this morning was anything but ladylike. - nearly choked with laughter at that one :)

  3. DFTP - hope it cheered up your morning.


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