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.


gth

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.


gth

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.


gth

Fan Mail: I deserve to be shot

The following post is an actual piece of fan mail, and my very unfunny--but trying to be so--response. Keep those love letters coming, I really enjoy them.

Fan Letter
Rogersallf@wmconnect.com wrote:
what the fuck is wrong with you pricks you all deserve to be shot!!!!!!!!!

Heartfelt Response
Are you using the royal "you", if such a thing exists, or simply lotting me in with the rest of the world's pricks. I would rather not be shot, as it is often a fatal occurrence, however, I am not entirely sure I can argue against my deserving a lead based diet. Then again, you don't know me very well, so I curious as to why you think I deserve to be shot? Did you discover my collection of hentai--god love tentacle loving, or learn about my past Nazi affiliation? If so, then yes, you should feel that way; otherwise, please refrain from threatening my personage via email.

By the way, fuck you and die.

bob

GTH

Wet Spot

Sometimes it is the little things that drive a man crazy. A beautiful young lady walked into the store today, she was accompanied by an overweight chap with fading hairline--he sought to hide this fact by sporting a buzz cut; however, his hair only grew on the back three quarters of the scalp, leaving the front section lacking both follicles and dignity. Now, let it be said, and said quite loudly, I am all for obese men escorting attractive young ladies. In fact, I, too, hope one day to find a chubby-chaser. But, this woman was extremely attractive and way too interested in her male companion. The pangs of jealousy threatened to overcome me, thankfully, these feelings were abruptly interrupted: the earthly vision did speak.

There are times when a man knows that he is a man, and then there are times when a man knows that he is only a pale shadow of wo-man. At first it wasn't the words, it was show she said them. Her accent was thick and most definitely French. I am a sucker for European accents, especially English and French. She was asking her boy-who-should-be-her-friend-and-only-her-friend about antiques, and all I could do was envision sticking French fries into her various orifices. My libido was about to peak, and before I knew it, the explosion occurred.

It was an orgasm in language, a syllabic explosion, a very good reason to change my underwear. She said, "They fucking rich." You might not understand by reading it, but when I heard it, it was as if her very voice had reverberated deep in my soul/pants. Of course, the moment, while intense, was also extremely short, and other then a loud grunt, my moment of carnal bliss went unnoticed. She left shortly thereafter with her brutish mate, and I excused myself to the bathroom and attempted to wipe clean my beautiful memory with a moist paper towel.

gth

More Conversational Fun

Frequent Antique Buyer: Bob, you look like you've lost a lot of weight.

Obese Me: No, in fact, I have gained fifteen pounds in the last couple months.

FAB: Really? Are you working out?

Fat Ass Bob:Uh...well, my clothes fit today. That always helps.

FAB: Uncomfortable Smile

Dad: Yea, he finally started wearing triple-extra-large shirts and size forty-four pants.

Lard Licker: Thanks for sharing.

gth

The most racist thing I said--today.

The following conversation is in reference to an attractive woman of African descent.


Friend: How can someone that size have such a big....

Me: Ass?

Friend: Yea.

Me: Well, she is black... and to deflect spears.

Friend: Stunned Silence

gth

I Lied--Fuck You too

Yea, I know that the blog is officially over, but I decided to issue a stay of execution. The blog will continue, at least for a little longer until my career as a porn director picks up.

A friend of mine had some interesting story ideas which inspired me, so I decided to share a short story. It is a story from college, or it least the title is from college. It is a work in progress--I still need to make final edits (which for me means a lot of editing) and rewrite the ending.

It weighs in a little under two-three words, not a lot by short story standards but more than enough to break into several parts over the next two weeks. Don't look for actual political or social commentary to start up for a while, I debating starting another site entirely to cover that. I understand if you don't want to read my short story stylings, but I figure it is better to air out my story ideas here than with my little brother.


Ubiquitous Computing

He had six minutes and fifteen seconds to shower, shave and figure out how to kill his wife. His morning itinerary was exact, making the last to-do on his list a little problematic. Mitchell, like all of his contemporaries, was anything but innovative, he was a creature born of routine and ruled by compulsory habit. Thankfully, his morning regiment only took six minutes to complete. The fifteen seconds not accounted for by the machine were considered incidental, not to mention well within operating morning parameters.

He opted to stab her in the heart with a serrated steak knife—of course, this was not an original idea; Mitchell had simply remembered the money shot of a popular nouveau snuff film. That left him with five seconds to ponder an age old question: Why does belly-button lint smell like curdled milk.

An Exercise in Egocentricity (THE FOLLOWING IS A DIRTY LIE)

This blog has existed for two years, along the way, often in spite of myself, I managed to be entertaining, funny, occasionally witty, and, on rare occasion, thought provoking. So, with those thoughts in minds, here is to me.

I have literally dozens of readers from around the globe--I am really big in Norway; the site has seen nearly fifty thousand unique visitors, which means my devoted twenty-six regular readers have way too much time on their hands. Ihateyou.us was never meant to be popular--and it really isn't--but I am flattered by those folk who enjoyed reading it. I truly enjoyed providing you, the deviant few, a semi-regular dose of shits and giggles. Here is to you.

My immediate family never cared for this blog. They weren't supposed to know about it, but the little brother, little bitch that he is, tattled on me. He came over to escape the wrath of she-who-hates-her-offspring. I, like any concerned brother, handed him the remote control and told him to leave me the fuck alone. My intention was not for him to look over my shoulder as I wrote a post about sexually molesting a mule--you see, I really wanted him to leave me the fuck alone, but he saw what he saw, told what he saw and made me even more of a pariah in the household.

My father pointed out that this was a waste of time and no one, not even those of the disturbed mind, would read it. Mom eloquently pointed out that I was a stupid bitch writing weirdo shit. I agreed, at least in principle, with father, but vehemently disagreed with mother's assertion. I prefer to think of myself as a weird bitch writing stupid shit. Nonetheless, I knew that this blog was an exercise in ego, a means to express what I should say, and lament what I didn't say. I didn't care what my family , or, for that matter anyone else, thought. In other words, this was my platform--one that often failed to live up to my minds eye, but always managed to make me think and/or shit. However, I did say a few things I regretted and stopped short of communicating several things I really meant.

The anonymity of the internet communication is a dangerous thing; one has a forum where they can say virtually anything, mention the otherwise unmentionable, all the while being protected from serious confrontation by the artificial veil of electronic irresponsibility. The truth, which I have alluded to before, is that I generally care for most people. Push comes to shove, I think the best of mankind--and yes, I even think the same of womankind, even if they are deceitful hell-spawned-hags. Bob hates stupid but he loves people. This blog has limited my discussion to mostly negatives, and while bitching is fun, it isn't productive. I have a lot to say about the world, some of it bad, some of it good, and most of it awkwardly funny, however; this is no longer the place to express it.

I plan on writing in the future: be it in the form of letters to the editor, columns in a zine, short stories on a Lovecraft fan-site, or a semi-autobiographical novel about college. Writing this blog has been a great experience because it has proven that I can spin a clever sentence, even when forgetting to use a comma properly, or ending on a preposition by. Who knows, maybe someday, or Saturday (sounded funny to me), you will read something else of mine and cleverly remark on how my prose has degenerated from speaking about an itchy rectum to commenting on my wife's smelly uterus. One can only hope, in the meantime, this is goodbye.

The archives will remain for a few months, so if there was ever a time to share the abundance of shite that is http://www.ihateyou.us/, it is now. Thanks again for being my audience and stroking my ego in ways that only a Vietnamese prostitute knows how.

God Bless

And least I forget,

Go to Hell

Wow.

Go to Hell