Sunday, May 29, 2005

Forty Inches Down I am a Midget

Sometimes, often when I am in the restroom sitting atop my off-white throne, I fantasize about ruling the world. It is a nice dream that involves torture, filet mignon, nipple tweaking and the elimination of all clown kind. Midgets would run free, monkeys would carry knives and women would massage the excess skin on the underside of my knees. What a dystopian paradise it would be.


Thursday, May 26, 2005

Dental Dams Be Damned

Average Human Adult: 28 Teeth (excluding Wisdom Teeth)

Bob: 12 Cavities

Percentage of healthy teeth in Bob's Mouth: 57%

Conclusion: Bob needs to floss

Further Conclusion: Bob is a stupid fuck.


Monday, May 23, 2005

My Great-Great-Grandfather, a reputed horse thief, who once attempted to ride off on a crippled horse, was fond of saying: I wish I had gun, so I could punch you in the face.

I tried being reasonable. I tried being demanding. I tried cursing in Hindi. I even said please. None of it worked, so now I am stuck with only one alternative: genocide. All I wanted was to pay off my Dell Computer. Three years earlier, during I am fated to win the lottery phase because a just God wouldn't expect Bob to work, I purchased a Dell Computer System. I did so using a monthly payment system, which resulted in an interest laden payment scheme that equaled the technology budget of MIT. I am stupid enough to own up to my mistake; my bad, I chose the American Way of debt, more debt and crippling debt. However, as of late, actually as of the last eight weeks, I have been making a little bit of money--my up skirt video business has really picked up, so I opted to pay off my credit cards and computer. Apparently, Dell doesn't want me to pay of their computer system. I have called three separate times over the last week, paid two separate amounts, and still am unsure if the computer is paid off.

You see, Dell Financial Services is operated out of India. They try to fool the caller by going by innocuous names, Tom Smith for example. To be honest, I was almost fooled by their clever subterfuge; I mean, seriously, it isn't like they have extremely thick accents and an inability communicate on a FUCKING THIRD GRADE ENGLISH SPEAKING LEVEL. Starting off a customer service by lying, i.e. my name is Tom Smith, is bad enough, but then failing to actually know enough English to complete a simple transaction is grounds for ethnic cleansing. One girl actually cried because she couldn't understand what I was asking: I would like to pay off my balance for account number xxxx, can you please help me? She spouted off her memorized script of, "Please hold while I access your account. What is your address? Can you confirm your last name?" This is a fine script to follow for the introductory portion of the conversation, though when that is all you can manage to say after twenty minutes, we have a problem. I almost felt bad for Amanda, or Shiva as began to affectionately refer to her as, but then I realized something: this bitch was getting paid to do a job she wasn't qualified for, or even remotely capable of. After yelling into the phone for several minutes, a new voice rang loudly in my ear. His name was John and he wanted to know my account # and reason for calling.

At this point, I considered calling up my local Congressman and demanding that a 10 megaton nuclear warhead be "accidentally" dropped on the Dell Customer Service Center in India. Of course, after a few seconds of deep reflection, I decided that a tactical nuclear strike could wait until I paid off my account. John was most helpful; he actually understood most of what I asked and was able to take a payment. Now here is where the real fun begins, when paying off a debt that involves daily compound interest, the pay off amount fluctuates day to day, which is why I called in the first place. I wasn't sure what I actually owed on Thursday, May 19th, so I called to find out. John didn't seem to know either; instead, he quoted an amount that was totally inaccurate and several hundred dollars less than what I owed. Not to be one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and since I planned on launching a nuclear assault momentarily, I decided to agree with him and pay the amount.

Cut to four days and one botched nuclear offense later, and I receive a call from Dell Financial Service's at work. It seems that I was late on my monthly payment and I didn't pay there would be dire consequences. I am not sure if anything could be direr than the blood that was flowing out of my ears as I heard Tom Smith finish his scripted solicitation. I calmly explained, as a customer looked on, that I had attempted to pay off my account days earlier, and while I wasn't sure if the balance was paid in full, I did know that a payment had cleared days earlier which easily covered my monthly payment and a years worth of English lessons for Tom. Mr. Smith, as he likes to be called, said the system didn't show this, he queried if I had another account with Dell because the system didn't show a payment. I am not one to fault a stupid shit for repeating a statement twice within the same sustenance, even if only a stupid shit would repeat the same statement twice in the same sentence. Yet again, I calmly explained that was not the case, and asked if he could call back as I was dealing with a customer. Mr. Smith didn't seem to like my measured tone; he retorted that I would be reported for non-payment to the credit bureau if I didn't take care of this situation immediately. I calmly told him to fuck off, hung up the phone and apologized to a startled customer. I explained that I was speaking with an Indian, she replied, "Custer had it right." I couldn't have agreed more.

I called back a couple hours later, it was my sincere hope to pay off my computer and wash my hands completely of the Asian Sub-Continent. I spoke with a man, at this point everything gets cloudy as I only remember searing pain from here on in. I managed to pay an amount that seemed close to what I owed on the computer, it was well within the five or ten dollars. Shortly after making the payment, the man, whose name I can't remember but was probably something like Mike, hell it could have even been Bob (tangential note: if I ever happen to work in a caller center again, I am going to request a new name, I always liked the sound of Adolph Mengele), stated that my payment would not post for a week, and that my previous payment wouldn't post for several more days, which made tallying my final payoff impossible because he couldn't calculate it without knowing when the payments would clear.

What I remember next is thinking the following: Unnamed Indian Customer Service Rep had a strong grasp of the English language; he understood the subtleties of saying fuck you, bitch without actually resorting to coarse language. By this time, the line was dead and Bob's computer was left in limbo. Since this incident I wondered what Buddha would do, he is a native Indian and must have some sort of insight. After seconds of mediation it came to me, Buddha would kick Ganesh in his elephant sized nuts. It seemed like a rationale idea to me.


Thursday, May 19, 2005

My Life Story

The rapid turtle ran somewhat slowly up the hill. He ate a bee, smelled a peanut and met a midget from Deville. The trip was slow, the grind was hell, and thus the rapid turtle began to slow. At this juncture, which happened to be at the precipice of the hill, the turtle wondered something grand: why do turtles smell like day old ham? An answer was forthcoming for Sharon Stone was coming, she knew why, she surely did. Sadly, much to the rapid turtle's chagrin, Sharon Stone stabbed him through the shell with rusty ice pick; you see--hopefully you don't--Sharon thought the rapid turtle was her friend Michael Douglas performing a scene from Basic Instinct Two.