TopCat's blog post - A letter to the Prime Minister of Canada

Dear Mr. Prime Minister;



I'm in the process of renewing my passport, and still cannot believe

this.



How is it that Radio Shack has my address and telephone number and knows

that I bought a tv cable from them back in 1997, and yet, the Federal

Government is still asking me where I was born and on what date.



For crying out loud, do you guys do this by hand? My birth date, you

have on my social insurance card, on all the income tax forms I've filed for

the past 30 years, my health insurance card, my driver's licence, on the

last eight bloody passports I've had, on all those stupid customs

declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed off the planes

over the last 30 years, and all those insufferable census forms that are

done at election times.



Would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother's name

is Helen, my father's name is Frank and I'd be absolutely astounded if

that ever changed between now and when I die! Man!



I apologize, Mr. Minister. I'm really ticked off this morning. Between

you an' me, I've had enough! You send the application to my house, then

you ask me for my freakin' address. What is going on? You have a gang

of Neanderthals workin' there?! Look at my damn picture. Do I look like

Bin Laden? I don't want to dig up Yasser Arafat, for crying out loud. I

just want to go and park my butt on a sandy beach. And would someone please

tell me, why would you care whether I plan on visiting a farm in the

next 15 days?! If I ever got the urge to do something weird to a chicken or

a goat, believe you me, I'd sure as hell not want to tell anyone!



Well, I have to go now, 'cause I have to go to the other end of the city

and get another bloody copy of my birth certificate, to the tune of $60!

Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot to

assist in the issuance of a new passport the same day?? Nooooo, that'd

be too easy! You'd rather have us running all over the place like chickens

with our heads cut off, then find some bozo to confirm that it's really

me on the stupid picture - you know, the one where we're not allowed to

smile?!

Hey, you know why we can't smile? We're ticked off!



Signed - An Irate Citizen