To our valued customers,

We at Crazy Jerry’s Used Cars and Trucks would like to offer our most sincere apologies. Many of you were offended by our ad campaign which ran in newspapers, on bus benches, and on local television stations. It was brought to our attention that there were several insensitive statements made within the campaign, and we are working our hardest to find out how these were allowed to be used, and seeing to it that the responsible parties are suitably reprimanded.

First of all, the claim that our prices on used Kias would make you think that we’re “actually retarded” was in bad judgement, and understandably angered many mental health groups in the community. We would like to make it clear that we did not set out with the intention to offend anyone, least of all any of our customers with disabilities.

We regret any offence, and would like to remind everyone that despite this lapse in professionalism, our extensive selection of used Kias are priced so low that one might make the assumption that whomever set the amounts suffers from some kind of severe brain malady.

Next, we realize our assurance that our stock of used 2006 Nissan Altimas are so well-built and maintained that “even a woman could drive them” was out of line, and we deeply regret that it was allowed to be published. We are fully aware that many women in fact drive cars on a regular basis, and a great deal of them are just as capable as men. Several may even be more capable.

We value the continued business of all our female customers, and would like to remind them that, despite the unfortunate slogan, we are company that is built on equality, and we have the utmost respect for women. Some of our hardest working employees, including our receptionist Suzy, are women. And so, as a gesture of good-faith, for the next month the purchase of any 2006 Nissan Altima will come with a complimentary set of high-quality cookware.

Now, with respect to the claim that our array of foreign-made models will have you “seeing so many Krauts and Japs you’ll think it’s goddamned World War II all over again,” we once again apologize for the gaffe. Frankly, it’s shocking that this kind of language could ever have slipped past us. There is no excuse for this at all, but we do maintain that our selection of used Volkswagen and Toyota models is the largest in the province. Come see for yourself.

Another unfortunate choice of wording was our guarantee that we have “more deals on used Pontiac Azteks than cocks your mother can fit in her whore mouth at once.” It goes without saying that this is not only inexcusable, but impossible to verify.

While we have had many pleasant and successful business relations with a great deal of our customers’ mothers, what they may or may not do in the privacy of their homes is none of our concern. It should also go without saying that our deals on used Pontiac Aztecs are quite plentiful. Come on in and test drive one today!

Finally, we regret terribly our decision to include the statement that “if you pass up deals like this, you’re a shit-eating piece of human garbage who should’ve been aborted so your stem cells could’ve been used to cure the cancer of someone with big enough balls to put a down payment on a fucking Ford Focus, you brain-dead cunt.”

Though this was utterly unacceptable, we remain confident in our deals on Ford and other great makes of vehicle, and think it would be foolish of you to miss the opportunity to take advantage of those deals just because of a little insensitive language. To be honest, we here at Crazy Jerry’s Used Cars and Trucks think maybe you should just grow up a bit, stop whining, and just buy a damn car already.

Jesus. We’ll hold your hand if you need us to. Change your goddamned diaper.

Deepest apologies,

“Crazy” Jerry “Arab Hatin’” Chesterson


Photo by Mark Coggins via Flickr

Alcohol is a weird thing. We like it because it loosens us up, tempers our inhibitions and makes it easier for us to deal with social situations that might be a little too overwhelming otherwise. We like that it makes us more fun. Or, at least, makes us think we’re more fun.

Alcohol affects people wildly differently. It makes some people want to fight. It makes some people want to fuck. It makes some people want to joust each other with lawn care equipment in shopping carts. No matter how it affects you, better or worse, there is one thing that anyone and everyone who has ever gotten intoxicated has experienced at least once: Regret.

Maybe it was something little, like telling an off colour joke at the office Christmas party that didn’t go over well, or getting unreasonably mad and yelling at someone for saying they don’t like Calvin & Hobbes. Maybe it was something big, like having sex with your sister’s husband, or driving your dad’s car off a pier. Maybe it was something really big, like taking over the music selection at a party and making everyone listen to a bunch of Doors songs.

Whatever it was, the awfulness of the next-morning hangover is compounded exponentially when you start to piece together what happened the night before and realize what you did. And that you’d better swallow your pride, like the eight shots of Jack you swallowed to get into this predicament, and apologize for it.

Apologizing for something you did when you were drunk can be an especially awkward apology, because in addition to the shame you feel about what you did, there’s already the built in shame that comes with just being that drunk to begin with, and the fact that your memory of it, if you indeed have any memory of it, is hazy at best, and you’re not really sure how bad it got.

So, with all of that in mind, I’d like to take the opportunity I have right now to apologize to some people for some of the stuff I’ve done while drunk in the last few years. I won’t mention any names, but you’ll know who you are.

Here it goes:

I am deeply regretful for my behaviour last night. I am sorry for arriving so late and for leaving so early without telling anyone. I’m sorry I disappeared for 45 minutes. Then came back soaking wet and got dirty water all over your carpet and couch. I’m sorry for urinating on the side of your house and off your balcony and in your potted plant and in the urn containing the ashes of whichever relative it contained. I’m sorry for forgetting which relative you said is contained in the urn on your mantel.

I’m sorry for forgetting your birthday. I’m sorry for passing out on your lawn. And your kitchen table. And the hood of your car. And in your dryer. I’m sorry for hitting on you shamelessly. In front of your boyfriend. That wasn’t cool. I’m sorry for hitting on your boyfriend shamelessly. And your sister. And your girlfriend. And all your girlfriend’s friends.

I’m sorry for accidentally urinating on your shoes. I’m sorry for accidentally stealing your shoes. I’m sorry for intentionally urinating into your shoes. For breaking that beer bottle on your kitchen floor, and that other one on your living room coffee table. I’m sorry for getting belligerent with your landlord when there was a noise complaint. I’m sorry for trying to hit your landlord. I’m sorry for hitting on your landlord.

I’m sorry for making you cry at your own party. And for getting the police called. And for daring your little brother to jump off the roof onto that trampoline. And for the hospitalization of your little brother. I’m sorry for hitting on your little brother.

I’m sorry I told you I’m in love with you. I am in love with you, but this isn’t the way I wanted you to find out. I’m sorry I lingered in that hug a lot longer than I should have. And for how much butt touching was involved in it. I’m sorry I ate more than my share of the pizza. I’m sorry I didn’t pay for my share of the pizza. I’m sorry I threw the pizza into the pool because it didn’t have the toppings on it that I’d wanted.

I’m sorry I flipped over the Scrabble board because you played a good word. I’m sorry I did that with the Monopoly board, too. And the Risk board. And the Sorry board. I’m not sorry I did it with the Settlers of Catan board. Though, seriously? You should be sorry for making me play that shit.

I’m sorry for defecating in your garage. That’s not acceptable, no matter how long the line-up for the bathroom. I’m sorry for those inappropriate phone calls. And text messages. And emails, Facebook messages, DMs, postcards, and the mural of us interlocked in the tender act of passionate love that I painted on the side of your parents‘ house. Marv and Judy were really cool about it, though. Tell them I say hi.

I think that covers everything. For now, anyway. I’m sure I’ll have to do another one of these before too long. I hope you understand and can accept my apologies and we can continue to be friends. Oh, and if you’re looking for an apology for something I drunkenly did during sex, that one’s coming privately in a binder in the mail. It’s a little too personal for this forum, and, frankly, the number of apologies I have to make for that couldn’t fit in an article of this length.


Photo by Johnny Scott