Como escrever uma carta para o governo

Algo bem escrito sempre impressiona. Mesmo que seja uma carta desaforada em resposta a um burocrata ~cumprindo o seu dever~. Burocratas, como sabemos, existem para fiscalizar a vida de quem está trabalhando, enquanto ignoram solenemente os problemas reais. Tipo se preocupar se existe realmente incentivo à violência num jogo de Super Mario ao invés de ir caçar aquelas fazendas com trabalho escravo infantil lá no interiorzão do Brasil. Mas tergiverso.

Encontrei no Letters of Note, um site dedicado a coletar cartas melhores do que a média, esta engraçadíssima resposta que o autor de Stuart Little, E.B. White, mandou para uma associação de proteção aos animais, interessada muito mais em coletar uma taxa do que na real qualidade de vida do canídeo em questão. Se eu fosse vocês, leria a carta inteira.

The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals
York Avenue and East 92nd Street
New York, 28, NY

Dear Sirs:

I have your letter, undated, saying that I am harboring an unlicensed dog in violation of the law. If by “harboring” you mean getting up two or three times every night to pull Minnie’s blanket up over her, I am harboring a dog all right. The blanket keeps slipping off. I suppose you are wondering by now why I don’t get her a sweater instead. That’s a joke on you. She has a knitted sweater, but she doesn’t like to wear it for sleeping; her legs are so short they work out of a sweater and her toenails get caught in the mesh, and this disturbs her rest. If Minnie doesn’t get her rest, she feels it right away. I do myself, and of course with this night duty of mine, the way the blanket slips and all, I haven’t had any real rest in years. Minnie is twelve.

You asked about Minnie’s name, sex, breed, and phone number. She doesn’t answer the phone. She is a dachshund and can’t reach it, but she wouldn’t answer it even if she could, as she has no interest in outside calls. I did have a dachshund once, a male, who was interested in the telephone, and who got a great many calls, but Fred was an exceptional dog (his name was Fred) and I can’t think of anything offhand that he wasn’t interested in. The telephone was only one of a thousand things. He loved life — that is, he loved life if by “life” you mean “trouble,” and of course the phone is almost synonymous with trouble. Minnie loves life, too, but her idea of life is a warm bed, preferably with an electric pad, and a friend in bed with her, and plenty of shut-eye, night and days. She’s almost twelve. I guess I’ve already mentioned that. I got her from Dr. Clarence Little in 1939. He was using dachshunds in his cancer-research experiments (that was before Winchell was running the thing) and he had a couple of extra puppies, so I wheedled Minnie out of him. She later had puppies by her own father, at Dr. Little’s request. What do you think about that for a scandal? I know what Fred thought about it. He was some put out.

Poderiam ter ido dormir sem essa?

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