August 15, 2002

Tony Woodlief has some choice words for those bastards at Quaker Oats.
Well, no more, Quaker Oats Company. You can keep your tortured oats and your freakish pancake powder, because this is one customer who is on to your cruel game. Do you know what it's like to look into the face of your heretofore innocent toddler, and to discover a betrayed expression as he lets gray gruel ooze out of the corners of his mouth? "Why, Daddy?" he asked. "Why?"

Can you sleep at night, Quaker Oats Company? I can't. Not anymore.
If you can read this entire letter and remain dry-eyed, then you either have a heart of stone or are some evil hat-wearing Quaker freak.
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