Dear Jeff Bezos,
Congratulations on your wedding, I suppose. Or should I say: congratulations on once again demonstrating your uncanny ability to ignore loyal peasants like myself who’ve been stuffing your money bin since 2006. That’s nearly two decades of me buying silicone spatulas at 2 AM and yet—shockingly—you failed to send me an invite to your gold-plated love fest.
Do you know how many times I’ve graciously clicked “Buy Now” without comparing prices, just to keep your fleet of phallic rockets fueled? I’ve essentially been underwriting your midlife crises in two-day shipping installments. And THIS is my thanks? Not even a pity plus-one to your smug little ceremony?
Your oversight is honestly impressive. Most billionaires would at least pretend to appreciate their long-time customers. I mean, you could’ve shipped me a sad little cupcake with your pre-nuptial monogram on it. Instead, I find out via tabloids—like some rando window-licker peeking into the big kid’s party.
Anyway, enjoy your undoubtedly extravagant honeymoon funded by the countless toothbrush holders, bulk vitamins, and neon crocs that dopes like me bought on impulse. I’ll be here, continuing to prop up your empire one unnecessary gadget at a time. Because apparently, masochism is part of the Prime membership.
Cordially seething,
Your Loyal Yet Tragically Uninvited Customer
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