I live in the beautiful glorious balmy state of North Carolina. Those without scary legs could wear shorts and be comfortable. There is no snow or ice or act of Lucifer that has committed heinous crimes to mastermind a way to make me so angry I throw things by icing up or drowning underground cable. No, for the first time ever, my cable is actually out of service. World, I am here to tell you that I can handle that. No problem.
Its all the other bullshit tacked onto Time Warner that has me shaking I'm so angry. I go round and round it seems. I am beginning to think all customer service systems are based on one simple feature. If you want to buy something, YES we will WEASEL you. AS a bonus please let me record your voice agreeing in blood that we have bundled your entire life and just think we are Gods, because we have a complex (in another language because we can't afford American diversity of Religion. [Press one to Agree we are your new Dealer. Press two for Technically FUCK YOU Press three to PAY Press four to PAY with a Condom, for all other calls, PLEASE Go to our website where we can chat and tell you to Fuck Off in writing.]
The phone service hung up on me twice. The local branch transferred me deftly back into the National Fuck You line. Then I was told how to reboot my GOD DAMNED ROUTER. They can come pick up the shit tomorrow right now. I might calm down and get someone who cares, but you realize that it will take all day?
I wanted to get into my car and drive ten miles to crap on some poor unsuspecting asshole's desk. I have dealt with these people so many times, and its always my problem and my computer. I don't think so, and they don't give a shit. Here's that Sandwich. You said you were hungry. Eat this Faye.
Options for the coyote. Hold forever and threaten. Hold forever and whore. All with the nicest perkiest FUCK YOU I can muster in return.
Let me meditate, ruminate and try not to do something that appears as if I might be practising stupidity.
My husband had no bone to throw the wife as he has delegated these things to me. I love him. Its a good thing.
SO, its off ..
Surf and Whore, so I can back it all up while ten managers figure out that critical mass has already been achieved. No turning back now.
And the Road Runner was always a jerk. Poor Wil E. Coyote. Super Genius. We'll catch that damned bird and roast it.
Its all the other bullshit tacked onto Time Warner that has me shaking I'm so angry. I go round and round it seems. I am beginning to think all customer service systems are based on one simple feature. If you want to buy something, YES we will WEASEL you. AS a bonus please let me record your voice agreeing in blood that we have bundled your entire life and just think we are Gods, because we have a complex (in another language because we can't afford American diversity of Religion. [Press one to Agree we are your new Dealer. Press two for Technically FUCK YOU Press three to PAY Press four to PAY with a Condom, for all other calls, PLEASE Go to our website where we can chat and tell you to Fuck Off in writing.]
The phone service hung up on me twice. The local branch transferred me deftly back into the National Fuck You line. Then I was told how to reboot my GOD DAMNED ROUTER. They can come pick up the shit tomorrow right now. I might calm down and get someone who cares, but you realize that it will take all day?
I wanted to get into my car and drive ten miles to crap on some poor unsuspecting asshole's desk. I have dealt with these people so many times, and its always my problem and my computer. I don't think so, and they don't give a shit. Here's that Sandwich. You said you were hungry. Eat this Faye.
Options for the coyote. Hold forever and threaten. Hold forever and whore. All with the nicest perkiest FUCK YOU I can muster in return.
Let me meditate, ruminate and try not to do something that appears as if I might be practising stupidity.
My husband had no bone to throw the wife as he has delegated these things to me. I love him. Its a good thing.
SO, its off ..
Surf and Whore, so I can back it all up while ten managers figure out that critical mass has already been achieved. No turning back now.
And the Road Runner was always a jerk. Poor Wil E. Coyote. Super Genius. We'll catch that damned bird and roast it.
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