with Archibald Scamp
Home Defence UK
A Symptom of a Greater Malaise
Thank You Kellogg's!
Two little words that mean so much, and yet say so little. Thank you. You 
can trot them out whenever you want, without even batting an eyelid. You’ve 
brought me a cup of tea? I didn’t really want one, but as I’ve run out of rum 
what the hell - thank you. Wow Aunty, you’ve knitted me a jumper out of an old sack with what I think is a
disabled puppy dog on the front, and it looks so itchy that wearing the thing will probably be worse than
the crabs I caught in Torremolinos, but I’ll thank you just so I don’t get nagged about being an impolite
little so and so. Thank you. I’m getting a blow job? Usually I prefer women, but I’ve had a few pints and, to
be honest, it’s been a while. And basically any hole’s a goal, particularly since my testicles feel like a
couple of ripe pumpkins banging around between my legs - thank you. See, you can say ‘thank you’ for
anything without even thinking. But sometimes, occasionally, you have to say thank you because you
mean it. Because something utterly wonderful has happened. Because someone really needs thanking.
And so it is with Kellogg’s. For
they make Crunchy Nut
Cornflakes. And Crunchy Nut Cornflakes are nice. I wrote to Kellogg’s to give them a simple thank you. ‘Thank you for your lovely product’, I said.  In return they sent me a nice letter (right) to thank me for the thank you, and a £3 money off voucher for Kellogg’s products. I see the ploy. Keep me eating. Make me addicted. Get me buying more and more. Attach me to the brand, and make me want to try other products in the range. Well, the Crunchy Nut Cornflakes were nice, so I wonder what else they do? What wheat-based breakfast treat I might have, something that will keep me visiting the porcelain shrine every morning to squeeze out a 10lb log, yet still be lovely and tasty? I see it now! My honest appreciation has me trapped!  I can’t stop eating their cereal! They have me, the motherfuckers.
Al Likilla writes: 
How nice of ‘Lindsay James’ to take a break from answering the complaints of old ladies whose filings have fallen out after they bit down too hard on the crunchy bits, and respond to Mr. Scamp in this way. I’d like to think that her job was made all the more rewarding by Archibald’s letter, as well as those ‘nice telephone calls’ she continues to receive. In fact, I may even ring in myself and compliment Kellogg’s on the perennial edibility of their cereals – 
it all depends on how this 
bottle of cheap sherry goes 
down. Perhaps you’d like 
to join me? That number 
again – 0800 626 066. 
Tell ‘em Home Defence 
sent you!