The following is a letter written from the perspective of a man who is quite upset about his recent robotic arm transplant. The company who performed the proceedure is on the recieving end of his passive-agressive wrath, and who knows? He may even get a refund. Written on the 12th September 2016.
“A Formal Complaint“
I am writing to you to formally complain about a recent arm transplant I had at your Antarctic compound/hospital. I feel it is necessary to put these words in writing as I feel that I might lose my figurative shit if I were to phone you instead. This medium allows me to take my time and present my opinions and feelings regarding my malfunctioning Auto-Masturbator 9K in a hopefully coherent and respectable manner, even if the thing fucking sucks.
At first, I was pleasantly surprised with my new electro limb. Your flagship model was certainly a lot more functional than my mangled stump and its associated dangling bits. Upon taking my complimentary hot air balloon back to my village in Transnistria, I tested the shiny new contraption by choking out a feral goat. I was pleasantly surprised to break my own personal record of twelve seconds until it fainted. Elated, I sought out and choked a further nine goats as well as several small monkeys. On a related note, it is not considered cruelty to dispatch these animals in my village, as we are currently overrun by them and are fearing that they may stage a political coup at any moment.
All was fine and dandy, that is until I chose to get intimate with myself later that night. You would think that a device approved by the “Allied Council of Honest, Agreeable and Undoubtedly Legitimate Business Practices” would be able to live up to its namesake of Auto-Masturbator 9K and easily achieve its primary purpose. Not so. I am now sans genitalia and am quite upset about this alarming fact. A robotic arm should not have a secret built-in miniature chainsaw which only makes itself known when the user is in a high state of excitement and therefore unable to do anything other than scream and bleed. Nor should it be built into the palm of the thing. I am deeply disappointed with StumpCorp for not informing me about this feature. This is clearly a huge oversight in design and I request that an immediate investigation begin, in addition to a full refund and a goodwill gesture of a new prosthetic penis (preferably forty inches or longer so I can also use it as a bullwhip), if you do in fact produce such a thing.
In summation, I cannot express my disappointment at my new arm’s inability not to fuck me up. The removal of my genitals has perturbed me greatly. I believe that all companies operating in the field that you have chosen to specialise in should offer quality aftercare and honour their patient’s right to not be fucked up in as spectacular a manner as this. A prosthetic arm should be capable of much more than just choking out goats and monkeys. I didn’t even get to play ping pong with the gimp I keep locked in the cage at the bottom of my garden, and that is undoubtedly your fault. For shame, StumpCorp, for shame.
Please do your best to resolve this disconcerting situation as soon as possible, otherwise I shall be left with no choice other than to begin legal proceedings with my very expensive lawyer. Failing that, I shall ask the Transnistrian government to bomb you off the face of the planet (and don’t think I can’t do that, they owe me a favour).