Apparently this letter was actually received by a passport office:
I’m in the process of renewing my passport, andÂ still cannot believe this. How is it that Sky Television has my addressÂ and telephone number and knows that I bought a bleeding satellite dishÂ from them back in 1977, and yet, the Government is still asking me whereÂ I was bloody born and on what date.
For Christ sakes, do you guys do this by hand? MyÂ birth date you have on my pension book, and it is on all the income taxÂ forms I’ve filed for the past 30 years. It is on my National HealthÂ card, my driving license, my car insurance, on the last eight damnÂ passports I’ve had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I’veÂ had to fill out before being allowed off the plane over the last 30Â years, and all those insufferable census forms.
Would somebody please take note, once and for all,Â that my mother’s name is Mary Anne, my father’s name is Robert and I’dÂ be abso-f**king-lutely astounded if that ever changed between now andÂ 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 theÂ application to my house, then you ask me for my fucking address !!!!
What is going on? Do you have a gang ofÂ Neanderthal arseholes workin’ there? Look at my damn picture. Do I lookÂ like Bin Laden? I don’t want to dig up Yasser Arafat, for shit sakes. IÂ just want to go and park my arse on some sandy beach somewhere. AndÂ would someone please tell me, why would you give a shit whether I planÂ on visiting a farm in the next 15 days? If I ever got the urge to doÂ something weird to a chicken or a goat, believe you me, you’d be theÂ last f**king people I’d want to tell!
Well, I have to go now, ’cause I have to go to theÂ other end of the poxy city to get another f**king copy of my birthÂ certificate, to the tune of Â£30. Would it be so complicated to haveÂ all the services in the same spot to assist in the issuance of a newÂ passport the same day?? Nooooooooooooo, that’d be too damn easy andÂ maybe makes sense. You’d rather have us running all over the f**kin’Â place like chickens with our heads cut off, then have to find someÂ arsehole to confirm that it’s really me on the damn picture – you know,Â the one where we’re not allowed to smile?! (bureaucratic f**kin’ morons)Â Hey, do you know why we couldn’t smile if we wanted to? Because we’reÂ totally pissed off!
An Irate Citizen.
P.S. Remember what I said above about the pictureÂ and getting someone to confirm that it’s me? Well, my family has been inÂ this country since 1776 …….. I have served in the military forÂ something over 30 years and have had full security clearances over 25 ofÂ those years enabling me to undertake highly secretive missions all overÂ the world. …….. However, I have to get someone ‘important’ to verifyÂ who I am – you know, someone like my doctor WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED INÂ F**KING PAKISTAN !
You Should Know Who.