Thanks, Groupon!

A customer’s correspondence with all-knowing Groupon

By Nancy Freiberg and Jon Mathis


Dear Groupon:

Thanks for your latest e-mail of fabulous offers. How do you know me so well? Do you have secret hidden Groupon cameras everywhere?

Because otherwise, how could you know that I’ve always wanted movie star lips? For only $1,599, you say, I can buy new upper and lower-lip implants (a $3,900 value!). I could just kiss you, Groupon, although I will probably wait until I have my new lips.

In another email, you figured out all of my needs – a six-month supply of contact lenses for $44 (56% off) so I clearly see the Sierras when I’m hiking with my new High Sierra Access Backpack for $29 (76% off).

I’ll roll out the MLB Team Logo Mat for $19 (58% off) at the summit and do yoga, after which I shall dine on “Gimme Chocolate Infused Candy,” which you say are rice puffs dipped chocolate, glazed in a hard candy shell and “infused with calcium, omega 3, probiotics or vitamin D.” I’ll take all four!

Botox bag by Everjean,

It’s uncanny, really. Even as I write, you’ve sent me even more offers. As usual, you’ve put your virtual analytical finger on what’s truly missing in my life – a motion-activated candy dispenser that lights up as it delivers “nostalgic” treats.

Not to mention that rowing machine for $99 (60% off!) that I’m now sure I’ve always wanted. Ditto on that great deal on an electric juicer for $49 (51% off) so I can make my favorite pomegranate-acai-pineapple-beet-orange-mango juice after a good workout.

Right on, Groupon! You’re the best!

Your Devoted, Elizabeth


Dear Groupon:

I love how you anticipate my every need, but lately I’ve been a little miffed about some of the offers you’re sending. Yesterday, for example, you sent me a deal on Botox along with this personal note:

“Like an iceberg, beauty mostly resides below the surface, but only its visible portion can gain the attention of an ocean liner. Look shipshape with today’s Groupon …”

I’m not sure just what you were implying, but my ego sank like the Titanic.

Then in the next email you offered me a Bargain Basement TM stomach liposuction for $199.99 (95% off).

Chocolate fountain by Joe Shlabotnik,

“Some stubborn flab can be resistant to traditional diet and exercise methods,” you wrote, “which is why many doctors have developed more powerful techniques, including
 bribing unwanted fat with one-way tickets to Cabo.”

LOL? I think you’re trying to be funny, Groupon. Ha, ha, ha. I know that I‘m getting on in years and may have put on a few pounds (partly due to that chocolate fountain deal you sent last year) but do you have to rub my face in it?

That’s just mean, Groupon.

Concerned, Elizabeth


Dear Groupon:

Today’s email from you was the absolute pits. I’ll be the first to admit that my husband Greg and I are having problems, but did you have to send him a discount divorce offer? And the worst thing about it was that, at $10,000 (25% off) he thought it was a steal.

“If Groupon suggested it, we must need it,” he told me over breakfast. “Isn’t that what you always say?”

How could I have ever been so naïve? What’s next, Groupon? Have you been offering Greg strip club deals? Discounts on dating sites, motel rooms, edible underwear? Is this all just because I didn’t buy the Botox and liposuction?

I thought you knew and cared about me, Groupon.

I thought you were a force for good and goodies. Now I am deeply disillusioned.

Sadly and angrily, Elizabeth


Guess what, Groupon?

I hear you’re not doing so well lately either. I hear that your business model has been labeled a disaster, you’re losing money and investors say you’ve become a prime example of “An Internet favorite falling like stone.”

Looks like now you have a few needs of your own there, Groupon. Well, have I got a deal for you.

I don’t think you know quite everything about us. My husband Greg (we’ve reconciled, by the way, no thanks to you) is a psychiatrist and a lawyer.

groupon leg
A new leg by Nadya Peek,

So for a total of $50,000 (5% off), Greg will offer you 20 psychotherapy sessions to get you through these difficult economic times. And for a mere $10 million more (percentage off to come), he’ll give you a 20-year supply of antidepressants or 40 sessions of electroshock therapy for your entire staff.

That’s a great deal, don’t you think?

And if that isn’t enough, for a mere $2 million (33% off!) Greg will help you file for bankruptcy. You might even wind up keeping a few of your personal possessions after creditors have picked over your financial bones.

Please consider these generous offers to meet your needs as you have considered so many of mine.

Gleefully, Elizabeth


Dear Groupon:

I’m sending a quick email to say, “Message received!”

Getting your offer for the package deal of “protective services and emergency limb and/or face transplants” for $4,999.99 (2% off) certainly got our attention. So let me just say that we’re very, very, very sorry we suggested you might need therapy, medication or legal help.

Groupon, we are again your biggest, bestest fans. We’ll definitely take you up on your great deal, for a mere $249,999.99 (3% off), to move us to some undisclosed-but-obscure outpost or developing country. Since you’re already sending us deals on mukluks and fur hats with earflaps,

I’m guessing we’re going somewhere chilly. So I hope you’ll send us a bargain on wolf meat cookbooks, but more importantly a satellite dish for our tent so we can still get your wonderful emails.

Respectfully, Elizabeth

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