Dear Mrs. Ms. Or Sir: I’m in the process of renewing my passport and still cannot believe this. How is it that Radio Shack has my address and telephone number and knows that I bought a cable TV from them in 1987 (23 years ago), and yet, the Federal Government is still asking me where I was born and on what date. For *&%# sake, do you guys do this by hand? Ever heard of computers?
My birth date you have in my social security file. It’s on EVERY income tax form I’ve filed for the past 35+ years. It’s on my Medicare health insurance card and my driver’s license, it’s on the last eight damned passports I’ve had, it’s on every stupid customs declaration form I’ve had to fill out before being allowed off the plane for the last 30+ years. And it’s on all those census forms that we have to do at election times. Would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother’s name is Maryanne, my father’s name is Robert and I’m reasonably confident that neither name is likely to change between now and when I die.
Between you and me, I’ve had enough of this bureaucratic B.S! You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my #*&#%*& address. What is going on? You must have a gang of bureaucratic Neanderthal morons working there! Look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden? And “No,” I don’t want to dig up Yasser Arafat, for *#!& sakes. I just want to go and park my ass on a sandy beach. And would someone please tell me, why would you give a damn whether I plan on visiting a farm in the next 15 days? If I ever got the urge to do something weird to a chicken or a goat, believe you me, I’d sure as heck not want to tell anyone!
Well, I have to go now because I have to go to the other end of the city and get another #*@&#^@*@ copy of my birth certificate, to the tune of $100. Would it be so difficult to have all the services in the same area so I could get a new passport the same day? Nooooo, that would require planning and organization. And it would be too logical for the @&^*^%@% government. You’d rather have us running all over the place like chickens with our heads cut off. Then, we have to find some ass*&%$ to confirm that it’s really me in the damn picture – you know, the one where we’re not allowed to smile.
Hey, you know why we can’t smile? We’re totally pissed off!
Signed- An Irate Citizen.
P.S. Remember what I wrote about getting someone to confirm that the picture is me? Well, my family has been in the United States of America since 1776. I have served in the military for something over 35 years and have had security clearances up the ying yang. However, I have to get someone important to verify who I am – you know, someone like my doctor….WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED IN INDIA ! And you ass&*%$ want to run our health care system?????
I DIDN’T WRITE THIS AND I WISH I KNEW WHO DID, SO I COULD GIVE HIM CREDIT.