I got this letter in the mail today:
Boy, did these fuckers seriously fuck shit up. How many thousands of pissed off hippies must've written to these guys to get them to ditch their brand new product, a product they probably spent millions of dollars on researching and testing and advertising, for the boring old, rock-hard loaf they so quickly booted out the back door. I fucking love it.
According to this "personalized" letter I received from Ms. Jennifer Hartley, they ditched the recipe that put their goddamn company on the yeasty map because a bunch of doughy, chowder-headed Midwesterners in a focus-group told them they liked "the softer Natural Wheat recipe" better. Of course they liked the softer loaf better, you fuckshits -- they're from the fucking Midwest. These are the people who put on their fucking pleated Dockers and Tommy Bahama shirts for a fancy night out at the "Olive Garden" and "Ruby Tuesday" and "TGI McAsssquirters" and the goddamn "Cracker Barrel." You think you're gonna hand them a slice of the old recipe, with its nuts and flax and spelt and husks and shit and expect them to choke that fucker down and give you a fat, bloated "Thumbs Up"?! You're fucking insane!
So now you've gotta piss away millions more to do damage control and calm all the constipated hippies down and fire up Catherine Clark's old hippie stoves up there in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin to start pumping out the exact same loaves you would've already been pumping out if you hadn't fucked with everything in the first place. It's really a fuck-up of monumental proportions. Nice work.
I don't know why I'm enjoying this whole Brownberry bread fuck-up so much. I think it's diverting my attention away from the fact that I'm a bird murderer... a birderer.