I had to send you this letter at school because my mom took away the first one. She said she wanted to “spare your feelings” and I’m a terrible grandsom and all that nonsense.
After receiving your last letter, I felt the need to address some issues. I think people don’t bring this shit up with you because they think “Oh, grandma’s an old lady, we shouldn’t upset her”. The result is you end up living in a bubble, protected from reality.
Well, I, your grandson, am here to tell you how it is. Nobody cares about your neighbor’s cat. Also, a dollar can’t buy shit these days, send twenties. Don’t tell us about the terrible gas you got from the pickled herring you ate, that’s gross. I know you come from a different time but when they taught us about the civil war in school, I don’t remember George Washington talking about his farts.
Most importantly, I wanted to discuss your English skills. I know you grew up in Switzerland or wherever, but that’s no excuse. Lots of foreigners learn English. The Mexican guy who does our garden for instance or Ping Wu at the Chinese restaurant. If they can learn English, why can’t you? It’s bad enough talking to you on the phone, I can barely understand you with that goddam accent of yours. But you would think when you take the time to sit down and write me a letter, you could at least consult a dictionary, if not “The Elements of Style”.
Contrary to what mother said, I’m not a monster. I’m not going to sit here and point out all your spelling and grammar mistakes, but trust me, they’re there. I know you probably think “Oh, I’m old, why should I bother improving myself at my age?” Sure, you don’t have to work cuz the government gives your lazy ass money for doing nothing but don’t you want to at least come across as a reasonably coherent person? At least on par with an intelligent ape or parrot?
If I have yet to convince you to do this for yourself, won’t you think of your family and the embarassment you cause us? Oh sure, the staff of the Olive Garden might think it’s “cute” when you want to order “Pisghetti with meaty bowls” but we don’t. It’s fucking humiliating. So crack open a fucking book or shut your goddam mouth, got it?
PS, my birthday is coming up soon. I want Voltron. Not a sweater.