Dear McDonalds

First off:
Dear Jenny,
I have sent you many signs that could possibly warn you of the serious fast food problem you have. The long lines at the drive throughs, the caravan of fat women ordering for 7 in front of you, your increasing waistline, and the fact that your skin is starting to smell like french fries should have given it away. Eating so much fast food is killing you. KILLING YOU. Maybe think about that, fat ass.
Thanks,
God

Secondly: After having the lunch hour from hell, I decided to send a formal complaint to McDonalds corporate headquarters and heed the warnings of a higher being, that I shouldn't have been there in the first place.

Dear McDonald's,
After having to waste my entire lunch hour running around in traffic, I made a last minute decision to stop by your establishment. It was lunch time so the line was long, but it was going pretty quickly and everyone I talked to was in a much better mood than I would have been-- until I paid and started driving up to the window to get my food. The crazy woman you have working there is holding my food out the window shaking it, as if I was just taking FOREVER! I had to actually move my car over to the right to avoid hitting her arms! She practically throws the food at me, shuts the window and walks away before I had any chance to ask for any sauce, a straw, or even THE RECEIPT!!! If I hadn't already been in stressful traffic and having a long day, I probably would have just said: "Man, what a bitch," and gone on with my life. Since I am pretty mad about the whole thing, though, I think I'll share with you how I feel about the quality of your hiring here. I think that the lips and rear ends of the chickens found in your little nuggets were probably better citizens at one point than that rotten woman there. Please tell her: thanks for making my day just a little crappier.
Hugs and kisses,
Jenny