To whom it may concern,
Recently I was fortunate enough to elude a marauding "Huge Ship". Thankfully, my father was a cabin lad, and his father afore hime a deck swab. Thus, my family lore is rich with tales of dainty side steps and januty pirouettes to circumvent the grisly end that a Huge Ship takes such mirth and pleasure in providing.
My story is a simple one- a lad born on choppy seas unto the torrid union of a merman and a lusty sea-wench: but this review isn't about my trials and tribulations. As I've outlined, I feel better equipped than most to slip away from the ghastly tentacles and undulating pedipalps of a Huge Ship, as it opens its grisly maw to dismember the unsuspecting. My complaint is- and it is my earnest hope that this will be taken to the highest levels of Amazon management and even to the attention of the most preeminent members of Her Majesty's Government- one of restricted access to life-saving information.
Puruse above, if you will, the tariff applied to this most life-saving of tomes. I humbly implore you to imagine, if you can bear the sheer horror of it, a hospital without nurses. A youth group without correctly CRB-checked parental supervision. A lemonade stall without a disaster recovery plan. Whilst I'm aware such analogies are extreme, and perhaps may induce severe agitation into the fairer sex, such provocative language is needed to illustrate the genunine need: How, with a clear conscience, can Amazon charge £1,342.51 for access to a book that should be a Human Right. If I had my way, I would issue every new-born babe with a copy, and perhaps finally every child would grow up with knowledge of the Dance of the Five Oars, and other tried and tested methods to escape this sea-borne scourge.
I eagerly anticipate a response from the highest decision makers in the land.