This picture will never not be funny.
This picture will never not be funny.
So, I worked today on this fine Labor Day. As a result of this working, I talked to a lot of people who usually wouldn’t be home and calling me on a Monday afternoon.
An important thing to remember about the people I talk to all day long is that while they all use Earthlink for internet access, they also are all customers of USAA. That usually means they are either currently in the service or most often have retired from it.
Today I talked to a man named David DeLuca. I cannot give you his e-mail address as that most certainly would be a violation of his privacy. I can however tell you that he is a PhD. Or atleast the information he gave us says he is.
Mr. DeLuca called me, around 4:30 PM today, piss drunk, to complain about his internet access and his e-mail set up which he did not understand. Here are some things he said which I immediately jotted down:
“I hope you’re not one of those guys who gets mad about four letter words because I have a fucking load of them for you.”
This was said after the call began and he launched into a several expletive introduction that I was so caught off guard by I didn’t get it jotted down in time to commit it to memory. You’ll have to believe me that it was brilliant.
We then moved onto a billing issue.
“Who the fuck am I fucking paying every fucking month? Fucking you?”
The voice of a generation, I am sure. The valedictorian of his graduating class, I’m positive.
We then moved onto discussing the notes that the previous technician had left.
Mr. DeLuca had this to say:
“If he said that, he’s fucking full of shit…and…and…and…A FUCKING LIAR!”
Harsh words there, Doc.
He then described his e-mail problem to me and I commented that what was happening shouldn’t be happening under normal circumstances. That really, cheesed him off.
“Shouldn’t happen or doesn’t happen? There’s a lot of guys in Iraq who shouldn’t be getting their asses blown off!”
I asked him next, which version of windows he was running.
“I have a fucking PhD! But it’s not in fucking computers!”
It’s also not in fucking English, I’m guessing.
Now though, he was really pissed off. And still for the most part, I didn’t have a clue what the hell his problem was.
He had this to contribute:
“Ok, listen: I have a PhD in hostage negotiation! The next time someone comes into your fucking building and wants to fucking blow your ass off, I’m the guy they’ll call to save you!”
Hostage negotiation, can this get any better? Can it? I’m barely keeping from cracking up at this point.
Finally, Mr. DeLuca calms down a little bit. He can see that I’m not going to go into hysterics because he knows how to say the word fuck and is really pissed off. I hear a can cracked open in the background. I’m almost envious.
We hammer away at his problem for a few more minutes and get to a point where he can hang up to see if I’ve fixed his problem (which I haven’t because he’s still a drunk asshole, but the computer is squared away).
“If this goddamn thing doesn’t work I’m gonna take out my big goddamn gun and fucking shoot it!”
All I can say is that I’m relieved he said it and not you.
I also need to mention that he kept talking about being a Vietnam Vet. I don’t know what the jungle did to our boys, friends, but it scares me.
don’t worry about rejections, pard,
I’ve been rejected
sometimes you make a mistake, taking
the wrong poem
more often I make the mistake, writing
but I like a mount in every race
even though the man
who puts up the morning line
tabs it 30 to one.
I get to thinking about death more and
writing purple poetry with a
when the young girls with mouths
bodies like lemon trees
bodies like clouds
bodies like flashes of lightning
stop knocking on my door
don’t worry about rejections, pard.
I have smoked 25 cigarettes tonight
and you know about the beer.
the phone has only rung one:
-Charles Bukowski; –For Al, from Love Is A Dog From Hell
Rest in peace, Chuck.
B. 1921 – D. 2003
Lewis Black once had a routine wherein he explained how you get aneurysm. He said that basically, somewhere along the line (and this will be paraphrased) “you’re sitting there and you hear the dumbest thing you’ve heard in your entire life. *AND* it goes in your ear, where your brain says “LET’S FIGURE IT OUT!” And you think about it. Over and over and over again. And the next morning they find you dead in your bathroom.”
Well, folks, I think sometimes making your brain hurt is not a bad idea. The way I see it, is when your brain starts hurting really badly, there’s a good chance you’re gonna kill off a few of your brain cells that were just wasting space and not strong enough to hang out with the ones you actually might need later in life.
Here’s what I propose:
Go to THIS webpage and read this young man’s poetry. [Sorry, link broken.]
Then, AFTER you gouge your eyes out. Take a deep breath and relax.
We wandered and toiled for what felt like forty years in the wildnerness when we came to the Mexican Bar.
“Look what the Lord hath provided for us!” Kelly exclaimed.
“He truly watches over our needs!” Jonah rejoiced.
“Oh Lord on high, beer us, please.” I prayed.
The Mexican bar was very colorful, and rainbow banners and light up signs covered the entire thing. Yet not one Mexican was sited. There were many women.
“This must be the work of the Devil,” said Jonah, “he is tempting us.”
“I agree,” said Kelly. “We must drink fast and put quarters in the jukebox for our salvation.”
I took the first turn loading it up with several hymns by the great song writers John Cougar Mellencamp, Tiffany, the Rolling Stones, and REM.
“Suckin’ on a chili dog outside of Tasty Freeze,” sang Jonah and Kelly. We all mimed punches to the ones in the song.
It became clear that our time in the desert was ending and we needed sustinance to continue drinking. Our exodus to the gas station was not uncomfortable as we had the words and sermons of the prophet ICE-T on audio cassette.
“I am totally on his dick,” said ICE-T’s interviewer.
We arrived near the Promised Land purchasing two hot dogs and two packs of cigarettes. We finished the Prophet’s sermon and continued to the Promised Land for last call.
There was much rejoicing and celebrating.
Jonah still wins, but now in improved lighting.
Take a bow, Jonah.
This entry was brought to you by the letter Beer and the number Drunk.
I can’t believe it’s been that long ago.
Birthday Party Gone Bad
Mom Accused of Stripping for Boys
SHARON, PA-August 27, 2003 — A Pennsylvania woman
was arrested after allegedly buying her son and 3
of his friends beer and stripping for them in a
hotel in an attempt to make up for a failed
birthday trip to ride go-carts.
Click Here for More WPVI.com Bizarre News
The 34-year-old woman was ordered Friday to stand
trial on charges of corruption of minors,
indecent assault and reckless endangerment
stemming from the alleged July 26 party.
Police said the youths met at a western
Pennsylvania go-cart track to celebrate the
birthday of the woman’s son. When the boys
discovered all the go-carts rented out, the woman
drove to Ohio to buy beer and then took the
youths to a hotel, police alleged.
In the room, the woman gave the boys beer, gave
them $1 bills, told them she wanted to be a
stripper and asked them to put the money in her
bra and panties, police said. She also exposed
herself and asked the boys to spank her, police
Police did not give the boys’ ages, but according
to the charges, they are under the age of 16.
The woman’s son said he was embarrassed by her
actions, police said.
The woman has an unlisted number and could not be
reached for comment by The Associated Press on
Tuesday. It was unclear whether she had an
attorney. She was free on bail and has been
barred from seeing the boys, authorities said.
(Copyright 2003 by The Associated Press. All
20 Minutes ago I began having a very elaborate fantasy about breaking an old woman’s legs. I was going to start out hitting across her knees with a baseball bat, then sort of roll her down a flight of stairs.
See, I was talking to her on the telephone her at work where I am currently on a much needed break. When I gave her directions like “click right”, “click left”, etc. she would promptly do something like scroll up or down, and just randomly click on whatever she could find to randomly click on.
I wanted to kill her. I was dreaming about how to do it. I’ve been having a lot of fantasies like this at work lately.
Someone give me a hug, ok?