Go to Hell
Thursday, August 05, 2004
Monday, August 02, 2004
Why I Hate the World
Mid April 2004
Alltel Publishing Rep: Thank you for signing the contract and faxing it back, I hope you enjoy your ad in the Auctioneer's section of the Yellow Pages.
Late May 2004 (After over one week of messages and being given the run around)
Alltel Publishing Rep # 2: Your original representative has left the company but I want to assure you that your ad will be in the upcoming Yellow Pages as your contract dictates.
We sent a notification to your father of his ad as a reminder; since you are putting an ad in for the first time we don't usually send such reminders.
Me: So, it is going to be in the Yellow Pages, right? I can send you my copy of the information, if you need it.
Alltel Publishing Rep # 2: No, that won't be necessary.
Late July 2004
Unknown Publishing Rep: I need to discuss your ad in the Yellow Pages.
Dad: My son takes care of that, can I have your phone # so he can call you back.
Unknown Publishing Rep: No, that is alright just wait till the phone back comes out to see if it is right.
Dad:?????
Unknown Publishing Rep: Hangs Up
Monday August 2
Me: Dad I have some bad news.
Dad: You killed a hooker?
Me: No, not yet. The phone book doesn't have my auctioneer ad.
Dad: I knew it. I guess several phone calls, verifications and a contract doesn't mean what it used to.
Me: Yep.
Mom: Serves you right.
The above events did occur, pretty much as I have written them. Is there moral to this pathetic display of customer service? Yes, there is one. Alltel Publishing, who publishes the most popular local phone book, is staffed by mildly retarded Pandas.
Well now I can rely on the local newspaper, the Newark Advocate, for my advertising needs. In other words, I am fucked. I would probably be better off stapling an Auction sign to my ball sack, running around naked and repeating the Mantra "All your base belong to us."
Go to Hell
Mid April 2004
Alltel Publishing Rep: Thank you for signing the contract and faxing it back, I hope you enjoy your ad in the Auctioneer's section of the Yellow Pages.
Late May 2004 (After over one week of messages and being given the run around)
Alltel Publishing Rep # 2: Your original representative has left the company but I want to assure you that your ad will be in the upcoming Yellow Pages as your contract dictates.
We sent a notification to your father of his ad as a reminder; since you are putting an ad in for the first time we don't usually send such reminders.
Me: So, it is going to be in the Yellow Pages, right? I can send you my copy of the information, if you need it.
Alltel Publishing Rep # 2: No, that won't be necessary.
Late July 2004
Unknown Publishing Rep: I need to discuss your ad in the Yellow Pages.
Dad: My son takes care of that, can I have your phone # so he can call you back.
Unknown Publishing Rep: No, that is alright just wait till the phone back comes out to see if it is right.
Dad:?????
Unknown Publishing Rep: Hangs Up
Monday August 2
Me: Dad I have some bad news.
Dad: You killed a hooker?
Me: No, not yet. The phone book doesn't have my auctioneer ad.
Dad: I knew it. I guess several phone calls, verifications and a contract doesn't mean what it used to.
Me: Yep.
Mom: Serves you right.
The above events did occur, pretty much as I have written them. Is there moral to this pathetic display of customer service? Yes, there is one. Alltel Publishing, who publishes the most popular local phone book, is staffed by mildly retarded Pandas.
Well now I can rely on the local newspaper, the Newark Advocate, for my advertising needs. In other words, I am fucked. I would probably be better off stapling an Auction sign to my ball sack, running around naked and repeating the Mantra "All your base belong to us."
Go to Hell
Saturday, July 31, 2004
I really enjoyed this site, I wonder why? Pay close attention to the Least likely for you to mind being raped by winner, as she has caused quite a stir in the internet community. She is cute, a sex offender, and a Southern Belle to boot. Definitely someone I would take home to mom.
Earlier this evening I saw that which no man should ever see. I was leaving the mall when a cute blonde appeared in the corner of my eye. She looked to be around fifteen to sixteen years of age, was approximately 5'2 and at first glanced, which consisted of checking out her face and legs, she weighed no more than 110 pounds. Lately, I have been leaving the bosom for last, when checking out a girl, and what a surprise that caused today. This girl had a pair of breasts that defied nature, the word mammoth does not even begin to do them justice. In fact the only proper way to describe them would be; cyclopean mounds of alien flesh. I seriously considered approaching this young lady, but what would I say? Miss, those awe inspiring mountainous things, you call breasts, can't be real, but you appear to be too young to have implants, so really the only relevant question is; Can I touch them?
Go to Hell
Earlier this evening I saw that which no man should ever see. I was leaving the mall when a cute blonde appeared in the corner of my eye. She looked to be around fifteen to sixteen years of age, was approximately 5'2 and at first glanced, which consisted of checking out her face and legs, she weighed no more than 110 pounds. Lately, I have been leaving the bosom for last, when checking out a girl, and what a surprise that caused today. This girl had a pair of breasts that defied nature, the word mammoth does not even begin to do them justice. In fact the only proper way to describe them would be; cyclopean mounds of alien flesh. I seriously considered approaching this young lady, but what would I say? Miss, those awe inspiring mountainous things, you call breasts, can't be real, but you appear to be too young to have implants, so really the only relevant question is; Can I touch them?
Go to Hell
Friday, July 30, 2004
Most of my peers, both gainfully employed and otherwise, do not believe my "job" at the parent's store constitutes real work. I have supported and even perpetuated this notion over the years and for that I am very sorry. Most people whom I am acquainted with do not have tough or demanding jobs, in fact other than the inevitable mental anguish that comes from working for the man, they have a very easy time of it. Now, I must admit that there is something to be said for working forty hours a week consistently, something which, as of yet, I have been unable to do. But, I truly wonder if any of my friends, or really any sane person, could perform my duties here at Park Place Antiques. The first issue is that I work for my mom & dad, or as I affectionately refer to them "Hitler & Mussolini." My mother, a.k.a. the Fuehrer, is, by all accounts, the cruelest being in the universe. To be fair I will limit this discussion to her treatment of me at work, as not even your darkest nightmares could entertain her treatment of Bob at home.
The Fuehrer
Mom likes to mock my job related ineptitude, in particular my ignorance of the antique world. She routinely points out this failing to any and all peoples who come through the shop doors. Honestly, this isn't such a major issue and it is one I could learn to deal with however, it gets much worse. After initially portraying Bob as a complete and utter moron, mom begins to build momentum of the ridicule-bob-kind. Keep in mind that she is generally speaking to perfect strangers while reading the following. Mother then likes to point out my relationship inadequacies, how I am single and forevermore shall remain so, and hint that I am of the homosexual persuasion.
After completely humiliating me, she questions the customers about their own children and whether or not they attended college. They usually respond about how wonderful their children are doing, or had done in college. Usually, mom gives them an evil grin and begins the tale of woe that was my collegiate career. She explains how I went to an expensive, well esteemed Liberals Arts institution. A place that afforded limitless opportunities to its students. Of course her no good, worthless son did not take advantage of this once in a lifetime chance, instead he spent four years drinking, breaking University fixtures and nearly failing out of school. He refused to go to class and at one point claimed that I suffered from a severe mental illness, in order to prevent academic related expulsion. I can't refute most of her argument, since it is in fact true. However, I would like to point out that I only drank for approximately two years of college, and spent the other two years laying in bed. And, honestly anyone who has spent any considerable amount of time with my mother can attest to her mental illness, and while that might not constitute a medical diagnosis, it is good enough for me. Anyway, I don't want to spend too much time discussing my mother's hate for her eldest son, so now I will share the story of Dad and how he thinks I am his bitch at work.
Il Duce
I love my father very much. But, I pity him even more. He has to put up with my mother, Issy, and me. Such a fate is proof positive that the Devil exists and enjoys torturing mankind. However, I must admit that a great deal of father's pain is of the self inflicted kind. He allows, or enables as all you pop psychology guru's like to say, Mother, myself, and Issy to act like total spoiled brats and treat him less like a man and more like an ATM. But, don't mourn the everyday hell that is dad's life because he still manages to get his shots in, at least towards Bob, while at work.
Dad believes that he is the absolute authority on any and all issues relating to work. Occasionally, I do come up with an innovative way to make more money or simply a means to reduce overhead cost. Everyone of those ideas is shot down quicker then a US spy plane flying over China. Of course he is the owner, and subsequently the boss so his word is law. I can deal with that, or at least I can pretend to do so. But, he doesn't stop there, dad then takes it to the next level and ridicules my brilliant ideas in front of his cronies.
It would be different if these men were captains of industry, self-made millionaires, or even adequate businessmen, but these men are nothing more than old deprecate retirees who never succeeded in any personal venture, and try leech off of dad's modest success. In other words he is unjustly calling me out in front of a group of dim-witted jackals who enjoy seeing someone, such as myself, with unlimited potential being knocked down a peg or two. As a wise friend once told me "Fuck that shit."
I am willing to suffer untold humiliations at the hands of marginally attractive women, my mother, and the little brother but Bob draws the line at this action. So, usually I verbally berate my father, in front of those same slack jawed rejects, concerning his poor business skills or simple lack of formal education. This results in shouting, expletives being tossed around (which my Dad never uses, except in reference to me or people of color) and finally my mother rushing in and stating "You are going to kill your dad, Bob. What are you going to do then?" My response, which is never changes and I must admit is not terribly creative, is "The real question what would your lard laden ass do without him to care of you?" The argument goes downhill from there.
Father dearest also has a bad habit of rescinding his authority when it comes to issues he is not comfortable with. Anytime an employee needs disciplined, a return phone must be made, or any issue involving Ebay, he states that I am the boss and need to take initiative and solve the problem. In other words my official job title is "Store Bitch" unless it involves serious problems or concerns, where upon I become the Store Manager.
As you can tell Dad isn't quite as bad as Mom but he is far from easy to work with or for. Of the two I would give him my non-cancerous kidney, while Mom well she would have to make do with the other one.
The purpose of today's' rant was to demonstrate that I do have a job, one that is extremely difficult and frankly, you probably couldn't handle it. The best thing for me would be to leave and start anew at a non-family run business, to leave the comfortable embrace of working in this hell hole, and instead start my long sojourn on the corporate ladder. What fun would that be? I might be the Jews to my parents Nazi Germany, but I don't think Bob would have it any other way. There heinous oppression has molded Bob into the man he is today. You may argue that isn't saying much, and I woud say "To Shut the Fuck up and die."
Have a nice weekend,
Go to Hell
The Fuehrer
Mom likes to mock my job related ineptitude, in particular my ignorance of the antique world. She routinely points out this failing to any and all peoples who come through the shop doors. Honestly, this isn't such a major issue and it is one I could learn to deal with however, it gets much worse. After initially portraying Bob as a complete and utter moron, mom begins to build momentum of the ridicule-bob-kind. Keep in mind that she is generally speaking to perfect strangers while reading the following. Mother then likes to point out my relationship inadequacies, how I am single and forevermore shall remain so, and hint that I am of the homosexual persuasion.
After completely humiliating me, she questions the customers about their own children and whether or not they attended college. They usually respond about how wonderful their children are doing, or had done in college. Usually, mom gives them an evil grin and begins the tale of woe that was my collegiate career. She explains how I went to an expensive, well esteemed Liberals Arts institution. A place that afforded limitless opportunities to its students. Of course her no good, worthless son did not take advantage of this once in a lifetime chance, instead he spent four years drinking, breaking University fixtures and nearly failing out of school. He refused to go to class and at one point claimed that I suffered from a severe mental illness, in order to prevent academic related expulsion. I can't refute most of her argument, since it is in fact true. However, I would like to point out that I only drank for approximately two years of college, and spent the other two years laying in bed. And, honestly anyone who has spent any considerable amount of time with my mother can attest to her mental illness, and while that might not constitute a medical diagnosis, it is good enough for me. Anyway, I don't want to spend too much time discussing my mother's hate for her eldest son, so now I will share the story of Dad and how he thinks I am his bitch at work.
Il Duce
I love my father very much. But, I pity him even more. He has to put up with my mother, Issy, and me. Such a fate is proof positive that the Devil exists and enjoys torturing mankind. However, I must admit that a great deal of father's pain is of the self inflicted kind. He allows, or enables as all you pop psychology guru's like to say, Mother, myself, and Issy to act like total spoiled brats and treat him less like a man and more like an ATM. But, don't mourn the everyday hell that is dad's life because he still manages to get his shots in, at least towards Bob, while at work.
Dad believes that he is the absolute authority on any and all issues relating to work. Occasionally, I do come up with an innovative way to make more money or simply a means to reduce overhead cost. Everyone of those ideas is shot down quicker then a US spy plane flying over China. Of course he is the owner, and subsequently the boss so his word is law. I can deal with that, or at least I can pretend to do so. But, he doesn't stop there, dad then takes it to the next level and ridicules my brilliant ideas in front of his cronies.
It would be different if these men were captains of industry, self-made millionaires, or even adequate businessmen, but these men are nothing more than old deprecate retirees who never succeeded in any personal venture, and try leech off of dad's modest success. In other words he is unjustly calling me out in front of a group of dim-witted jackals who enjoy seeing someone, such as myself, with unlimited potential being knocked down a peg or two. As a wise friend once told me "Fuck that shit."
I am willing to suffer untold humiliations at the hands of marginally attractive women, my mother, and the little brother but Bob draws the line at this action. So, usually I verbally berate my father, in front of those same slack jawed rejects, concerning his poor business skills or simple lack of formal education. This results in shouting, expletives being tossed around (which my Dad never uses, except in reference to me or people of color) and finally my mother rushing in and stating "You are going to kill your dad, Bob. What are you going to do then?" My response, which is never changes and I must admit is not terribly creative, is "The real question what would your lard laden ass do without him to care of you?" The argument goes downhill from there.
Father dearest also has a bad habit of rescinding his authority when it comes to issues he is not comfortable with. Anytime an employee needs disciplined, a return phone must be made, or any issue involving Ebay, he states that I am the boss and need to take initiative and solve the problem. In other words my official job title is "Store Bitch" unless it involves serious problems or concerns, where upon I become the Store Manager.
As you can tell Dad isn't quite as bad as Mom but he is far from easy to work with or for. Of the two I would give him my non-cancerous kidney, while Mom well she would have to make do with the other one.
The purpose of today's' rant was to demonstrate that I do have a job, one that is extremely difficult and frankly, you probably couldn't handle it. The best thing for me would be to leave and start anew at a non-family run business, to leave the comfortable embrace of working in this hell hole, and instead start my long sojourn on the corporate ladder. What fun would that be? I might be the Jews to my parents Nazi Germany, but I don't think Bob would have it any other way. There heinous oppression has molded Bob into the man he is today. You may argue that isn't saying much, and I woud say "To Shut the Fuck up and die."
Have a nice weekend,
Go to Hell
Monday, July 26, 2004
Sunday, July 25, 2004
The auctioneer's exam was not too difficult, thought it apparently written by a mad Arab, as it mentioned the summoning of the ancient Old Ones in several places. Actually, it was written by the former legal consul of Ohio, who now enjoys writing testing material in the most convoluted and imprecise ways possible. I pointed this fact out to the Administrative Assistant, who basically runs the Auctioneer department, which is scary in of itself, but anyway she didn't take kindly to my harsh, albeit entirely accurate, criticism.
Here is an example question from the test, and I am really not exaggerating in its presentation
Is it not false that when one sells 300 cattle at auction, they are not mandated by the State of Ohio to have an auctioneer’s license?
The above example was in the True or False section, thought I wouldn't have been surprised if they put it in the multiple choice area.
When selling chattel property at Auction, in what instances are you NOT required having an auctioneer’s license?
A. When selling your own property.
B. When selling your own property, which was not bought for resale.
C. When selling your own property, which was not bought for resale and purchased within the last ten years.
D. All of the Above.
E. None of the Above
F. When Lord Yoggosoth deems it fit not to.
A, B, C, are all correct and subsequently D would be the proper answer but A could very well be incorrect. If you read the Ohio Revised Code, it clearly states a person must not be selling property bought for resale, if they have an auction without a license. Since, the other two choices specifically mentioned "not for resale" one could easily assume that the test-maker/laywer/retardedwhore put in choice A to confuse and mislead the test taker. Furthermore, answer C could be a red herring as well because the ten year provision is not applicable or mentioned in the ORC. In other words D is probably the answer but B is the best choice because it is the only one that is clear, accurate and actually referred to in the ORC. I picked choice F
By the way if you think that previous examples are fabricated, or at the very least greatly exaggerated, please do read test makers previous work located in the ORC, in particular section 4707. She really does have a gift for making the easiest concepts and procedures complicated as hell. I pretty sure she hand in writing the Microsoft user agreement as well
Go to Hell
Here is an example question from the test, and I am really not exaggerating in its presentation
Is it not false that when one sells 300 cattle at auction, they are not mandated by the State of Ohio to have an auctioneer’s license?
The above example was in the True or False section, thought I wouldn't have been surprised if they put it in the multiple choice area.
When selling chattel property at Auction, in what instances are you NOT required having an auctioneer’s license?
A. When selling your own property.
B. When selling your own property, which was not bought for resale.
C. When selling your own property, which was not bought for resale and purchased within the last ten years.
D. All of the Above.
E. None of the Above
F. When Lord Yoggosoth deems it fit not to.
A, B, C, are all correct and subsequently D would be the proper answer but A could very well be incorrect. If you read the Ohio Revised Code, it clearly states a person must not be selling property bought for resale, if they have an auction without a license. Since, the other two choices specifically mentioned "not for resale" one could easily assume that the test-maker/laywer/retardedwhore put in choice A to confuse and mislead the test taker. Furthermore, answer C could be a red herring as well because the ten year provision is not applicable or mentioned in the ORC. In other words D is probably the answer but B is the best choice because it is the only one that is clear, accurate and actually referred to in the ORC. I picked choice F
By the way if you think that previous examples are fabricated, or at the very least greatly exaggerated, please do read test makers previous work located in the ORC, in particular section 4707. She really does have a gift for making the easiest concepts and procedures complicated as hell. I pretty sure she hand in writing the Microsoft user agreement as well
Go to Hell
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Tomorrow, I meet my destiny. To be more to the point, I am taking my auctioneer licensing test at 9:ooam Friday, July 23. There is no way that I should fail, as the test, itself, is very simple. However; I have this lingering feeling that somehow I will manage to fuck the test up and be that guy. You know the guy who managed to fail Phys Ed, the guy who prematurely ejaculates when the hot transvestite is on the bed, the guy who only needed a 57% on his final exam of the semester to get an A in AP American History and manages to get a 37%.
Wish me luck.
Go to Hell
Wish me luck.
Go to Hell
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
I typically don't rehash a subject, unless you count my hatred towards women, but this guy deserves another post. I am glad that a page 2 Espn writer actually compared him to Michael Jordan because I actually thought the same thing.
Obviously a pencil necked software engineer has very little in common with MJ, at least externally but they are both similar in one important way. They have the x factor, the it gene, the ability to hit a fading jump shot over Craig Ehlo and send Cavaliers basketball into the stone ages (at least till Lebron came into town). I only watched this smarmy little bastard one time, and it was only for a half of Double Jeopardy, but you know was painfully obvious from even this short viewing. Ken Jennings is absolutely unbeatable. Of course one day he will falter and fall, no one wins forever, not even the # 23 but when you watch this guy that is exactly the impression you get. There is an heir of invincibility surrounding him that is hard to accept and impossible to like but undeniably entertaining to watch. I never liked Jeopardy, which is why, even now, with the quiz master dominating the show, I don't tune in. But, deep inside I know, as should you, that something special is going on in Trebek land. You might not tell your children about it but maybe you should. You will be hard pressed to ever find a more impressive example of absolute mastery and actual historical evidence of what being in the zone means. Any non-athlete who draws an analogy to Michael Jordan is special but one, who might actually be even more dominating in his chosen field, is extraordinary.
Ok, enough of me suckling the Mormon's ass. Though, I would like to say that Bob was once in the zone as well. For twenty minutes I satisfied a girl in ways that Ron Jeremy could only imagine. It didn't hurt she was drunk, or that I was so nervous that ejaculation was not physically impossible. But, even taking that into account doesn't deny that for a little over one quarter of an hour Bob truly did live up to the name, Big Sexy. Her dam did most assuredly come crashing down and she did spill a flood, in spurts of course, that would do Noah proud.
Ok so that is really why I wrote today's post, to brag about my one, and really only, mutually gratifying and successful sexual encounter.
Go to Hell
Obviously a pencil necked software engineer has very little in common with MJ, at least externally but they are both similar in one important way. They have the x factor, the it gene, the ability to hit a fading jump shot over Craig Ehlo and send Cavaliers basketball into the stone ages (at least till Lebron came into town). I only watched this smarmy little bastard one time, and it was only for a half of Double Jeopardy, but you know was painfully obvious from even this short viewing. Ken Jennings is absolutely unbeatable. Of course one day he will falter and fall, no one wins forever, not even the # 23 but when you watch this guy that is exactly the impression you get. There is an heir of invincibility surrounding him that is hard to accept and impossible to like but undeniably entertaining to watch. I never liked Jeopardy, which is why, even now, with the quiz master dominating the show, I don't tune in. But, deep inside I know, as should you, that something special is going on in Trebek land. You might not tell your children about it but maybe you should. You will be hard pressed to ever find a more impressive example of absolute mastery and actual historical evidence of what being in the zone means. Any non-athlete who draws an analogy to Michael Jordan is special but one, who might actually be even more dominating in his chosen field, is extraordinary.
Ok, enough of me suckling the Mormon's ass. Though, I would like to say that Bob was once in the zone as well. For twenty minutes I satisfied a girl in ways that Ron Jeremy could only imagine. It didn't hurt she was drunk, or that I was so nervous that ejaculation was not physically impossible. But, even taking that into account doesn't deny that for a little over one quarter of an hour Bob truly did live up to the name, Big Sexy. Her dam did most assuredly come crashing down and she did spill a flood, in spurts of course, that would do Noah proud.
Ok so that is really why I wrote today's post, to brag about my one, and really only, mutually gratifying and successful sexual encounter.
Go to Hell
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
You have to love my father and his reliance on "old school" terminology. I tried to explain that Negro is not the accepted term anymore, unless it is being used by Negroes, themselves, or disenfranchised white suburban kids.
He might not be politically correct but God help him, he is unintentionally funny.
Go to Hell
He might not be politically correct but God help him, he is unintentionally funny.
Go to Hell
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Where is Sean Connery when you need him?
Those damn Mormon's are starting to get on my nerves. First they discover the secret password to the Celestial Kingdom and now they have taken over our most beloved quiz show, Jeopardy.
Foul, I cry foul.
Go to Hell
Those damn Mormon's are starting to get on my nerves. First they discover the secret password to the Celestial Kingdom and now they have taken over our most beloved quiz show, Jeopardy.
Foul, I cry foul.
Go to Hell
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