Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Kentucky 2: The Switchblade Clown ~ or why I am NEVER taking Greyhound again!!!

Now on paper, I had a plan that looked pretty solid.
1. Go to the Greyhound station.
2. Get on a bus.
3. Go to Kentucky.
4. Go to job interview.
Sounds pretty damn easy, right?

..... Yeah, if you've been following me to this point, then we all KNOW better, don't we?

What should have been ONE ticket straight down to London ~ which would have been only a 6-7 hour trip at the very most ~ was split into TWO tickets. Why? Because Greyhound can't be bothered to plan a route not written by the Family Circus gang, so I wound up being sent on Bus #1 to Ohio, then transferred to Bus #2 to Kentucky.

A 6-7 hour trip would become a 12+ hour fiasco ~ and that's not even counting the hours prior to said Greyhound station. Bear with me here.

Now before I left, I had purchased a $20 Tracefone flip-phone, so I could take pictures along the way. However I'm low on minutes, so I used my digital camera to snap photos of my cell phone pictures. Podunk? Yes, but it works. I also kept a notepad with me so I could make sketches to pass the time. However, I wound up sketching the very people I had the great misfortune of meeting during my trip, so please understand that some of this story may be difficult to read/see for some readers. Keep in mind, I am only reciting what happened to me. Being of mixed race heritage, I understand that some of this story may offend some readers, so I would like to extend an apology now for anything that may be offensive to you.

My boyfriend John sent the money ahead for the Greyhound ticket. My mom paid the thing off, including the $15 "gift" charge since the cardholder was not going along (WTF??) and John agreed to come get me as soon as I hit London.

Now to get to the Greyhound station from my former house (more on that another time) I had to take a cab to the train station, take a train to a bus, then take the bus to a stretch of Chicago, then walk to the Greyhound. My father wanted to "help" me get to the station points, provided I fit into his "busy schedule" of hanging out with his batshit girlfriend "Maryse" and Masonic Lodge. So he ordered a cab for me at 6:30 in the morning.

Mama and Orion ended up going in his stead.

So up and out I was at 6:30 in the morning, after getting less than 5 minutes of sleep from the day before. I'm flying by on fumes right now, so it's a miracle I wasn't biting anybody's head off.

We take the cab to the train station, where I realize my first blunder of the day... my luggage.

I've had this Barbie bag for a very long time. It's actually bigger than some of the adult luggage Mama had in the house, so I figured it was the right size to cram full of my clothes and toiletries, and while heavily "little girly" and a bit embarrassing to drag through Greyhound, it does it's job nicely.... except that the handles were built for a three year old.... so while it has wheels, there's no way to extend this heavy-assed bag so that a 5'4 adult could carry it safely. So all through Chicago, there I was, leaning half-way down to street level on one side, trying to drag it from one place to another. I want you to imagine the adult daughter of Curly Sue and Igor, traipsing about, trying to avoid bird shit while carting this thing around.

We get to the station at 8:30.... my bus doesn't leave until 1:45. Awesomesauce.

So I sat with my brother as he tried to get the Nintendo Hot Spot to work on his 3DS so we could at least watch Pokemon. It took him an hour and a half to load a 23 minute episode. Why? Because Greyhound also has AT&T. Nice. So after trying to load the episode, my mom does what everyone with a phone does, she tried to take a picture of the two of us, since she doesn't know when we'll all be together again.
Out of nowhere like a ninja, Black Hitler jumps my mom, and gets really close to her face. "YOU CAN'T BE TAKING NO DAMNED CELL PHONE PICTURES UP IN GREYHOUND!! THAT IS AGAINST GREYHOUND POLICY. YOU BEST BE PUTTING THAT PHONE AWAY FO' I TAKE IT FROM YOU!!" My mom looks up confused. "Um... I'm just snapping a photo of my kids. My daughter is leaving. And there's nothing in the photo except my son and daughter. You can't even see the Greyh-" Black Hitler cuts her off. "I SAID no PICTURES!! I see you whip that thang out one more time, I'mma have to ask you to LEAVE!!" 

Had this crazy son of a bitch not been caressing his pistol like an eager and happy wife with her husband's man business, I'd have popped this fool. But seeing as how I am grossly under-armed for a confrontation with the NRA's very own Black Hitler in Chicago, I simply ushered my mother and brother to the seating room... where we sat from 9 until 1:45, across from a man undressing himself and singing to his toes (I am not kidding) addressing each by name, and then near the Greyhound arcade, where a little girl messed up the crane game, and made it scream at us until my bus arrived. I am now convinced that mass shootings are the direct result of hearing crane game machines blasting ice cream truck music at a standard television set volume level of 60.

At 1:45 my bus arrived. I went through my security screening and balled like a giant baby, not knowing how soon I'd next see my mom and my brother. True, crying embarrasses me, but if you had a family like those two, you'd cry your ass off too.

I was on the bus exactly 3 seconds (I have a watch) when the ethnic, female equivalent of Austin Powers' Fat Bastard sits in front of me, taking out two whole seats. She pulls out her own Tracefone Flipper, and proceeds to scream as loud as possible in it, to some poor sot at an Enterprise Rent-A-Car.

"WHAT YOU BE MEANING I GOTS TO HAVE ME A CREDIT OR A DAMN DEBIT CARD? BITCH CAN'T YOU JUST GIVE ME A CAR AN' I BE DRIVIN' IT AN' SHIT??"

It is this type of language by the way, that would cause Sidney Poitier to put his fist through a wall. I could just feel my civil rights fighting family from Heaven doing a group facepalm with Dr. King ~ and the bus was not even in motion yet!

As the late Billy Mays would say, BUT WAIT!! There's more!

Sitting next to me is a ditzy 20-something... with a screaming baby.
Oh! I get it now. I was BAD, and this is HELL!

Now, the baby is easily under a year old. I want to make that crystal clear. There is no freaking way this child is old enough to speak yet, let alone understand the world around her. Not a chance. Any moron would understand that this baby is not going to grasp the concept of Greyhound..... except of course the moron who gave birth to her.

As soon as the bus starts moving, the baby starts fussing about. She will look at something in the window, try to grasp it, and then cry. Babies do this when they don't want to take a nap while they are traveling. Sane people with babies usually try to keep the baby occupied, or they try to relax the baby so that he/she will take a nap. It's not brain surgery, and most people would try to do this.

This Valley Girl? No... not so much.

She tries to sit the baby in the adult Greyhound seat next to her. Oh yeah I should mention. This idiot did NOT bring a baby seat, baby toys, or anything in her bag that would scream "Hey! I'm traveling with a baby". NOPE!! So baby is in the seat next to her, screaming bloody murder at the top of her wee little lungs.

Mommy Dearest leans right into her face and says "ENOUGH!! You are being so selfish right now. You clearly are not even trying to understand MY feelings an' stuff. You need to stop, compose yourself, and stop being a PrimaDonna."

Obviously, this doesn't work. The baby starts crying. Mumsy ignores her to speak to me ~ the only other 20-something currently on the Hades Express.

Moron: So liiiiike do you have like kids an' stuff?
Me: Nope, no kids yet.
Moron: Like Ohmigawd i totally like envy you right now. Like for serious. She is SUCh a primadonna.
Me: Aww no, babies get fussy when they travel. This is a new experience for her.
Moron: GAWD like she should be all happy an sh-AT UP ALREADY!! Like I'm talkin' an' stuff! GAWD. I NEVER should have had her. Like if I could go back in time, an' meet myself when I was like about to have sex, I'd like abort her face in front of her before even having like condomless sex and whatever, so like before I even had sex, I wouldn't like get pregnant. I'd just abort her face before making it. 

Keep in mind, I am sincerely pro-choice, and in favor of a woman's right to choose. But hearing this was a little hard for me. Still, I refuse to change my stance on abortion rights.... I just wish this idiot's mother had had one before this moron was born, and then the moron grew up and she had a baby an' tried to abort it's face before it was even conceived an' stuff.

By the way. It is not scientifically possible to abort a child before it's conceived. I am ashamed of the public school system for not covering this basic, 4th grade knowledge.

Moron: So liiiiiiiike how far does this bus like go an' stuff?
Me: Well this bus makes a transfer in Cincinnati.
Moron: Cincinnati? Like OhMiGawd! Is that like far away an' stuff?
Me: Um... Yeah.. it's like two states away an' stuff.
Moron: States? ........................ Is that like more than a county or what?

She has bred, ladies and gentlemen. This one has bred.

The baby starts crying again, after flipping out of the adult seat and smashing her little head into her mother's bag. Why? Because fuck child seats and seat belts. That's why. Nuno, that's fine Ms. 20-something, you go right ahead and seat your baby in an adult seat without proper restraint, that's totally okay. Brain damage builds character.

Just as the baby is being brought back up for air, I look to the front of the bus. I'm somewhere past Merrilville, and I see a McDonald's built in the middle of the highway. I shit you not. I did not realize right away that the highway goes around the french fry establishment, so all I saw were the golden arches coming at the bus super fast. Now call me morbid if you will, but at this point, I thought "Gee, isn't this the most podunk, redneck way to die? On a Greyhound that plows entrance way first into a McDonald's. Now how am I going to explain this when I meet St. Peter? Everyone ahead of me will have died for other reasons. Of cancer surrounded by loved ones, in a far away country in battle, Hell, some may even be rendered lifeless after saving a family of kindergarten nuns and puppies from a chainsaw wielding lumberjack in a pillow factory on fire. But me? My death certificate will read *Death by 'Merica*. How could I explain that? What would my mother think, knowing that I was out of her care a grand total of 2 hours, and was killed savagely, and found with the quarter pounder menu jammed in my face?"
OH THANK YOU SWEET BABY JEBUS ON A TRYCYCLE!!! I went to the right of it, and only skidded ONE barrier. Nothing like a lunchtime coronary to pep you up!

So I rode through Indiana, knowing that we would be making a stop soon. My ticket actually said that there would be two meals on the bus before hitting Ohio. Anybody who has ever rode Greyhound before knows that this is a lie. There are no stewardesses on board to grant you a shitty, $8 bag of peanuts like they have on airplanes. So where is the magic food coming from?

As the bus driver says: MAC-DONALDS, which is also a Greyhound bus stop for passengers in the middle of bumfuck Indiana.
We were told we could have 10 minutes to get off the bus and grab a bite to eat, but at minute #5 we were setting out again. Needless to say I was not stupid enough to leave the bus for ANY reason. Not even to pee. I could just use the toilet in the back of the bus, and let the vortex of ice cold air from the gravel filled road work as a dry bidet for me.

Now the baby adjacent to me started crying again about 30 minutes later. Her moron of a mother gets nose-to-nose in her face and says the following:

"You are So not grateful! You know what your problem is? You totally do not understand my problems at all. AT ALL!! You need to stop being a primadonna right now. You know? Other people have to be in Somalia right now. Think about that a minute. You could be in Somalia right now.. with people in it."

If you watch Saturday Night Live, then you probably figured out that this really IS the girl you regret talking to at a party..... but with a baby. 

Now the baby starts to get sick. So what am I sitting next to? That's right! A screaming, PUKING, crying baby ~ for the next two hours and fifteen minutes. (I have a watch.) So what does her mother give her? A toy? A Playtex full of milk or water? A story? Nope. How about TWO ADULT SERVINGS OF GATORADE!! The Pediatric's choice beverage for Greyhound babies. That'll stop the baby from crying!
Oh goody! And she's trying to cut her first tooth on the bottle!! So now I have a screaming, neon-blue-and-green-liquid-puking, crying, TEETHING, over-tired baby next to me. YIPPIE!!! And me without a taser.

At 7:15, we roll into a station in Indianapolis... where I am promptly thrown off the bus, and have my pink bag chucked full force at my head. What the fuck?? Someone hands me a ticket, and I am left stranded in Indy. Did the bus need refueling? Nope. Did we change buses? Nope. Did we change drivers? Nope. We're just out here... because fuck you. I'm not kidding, that's what we were told. But fortunately, TMZ's mom of the year has reached her destination, so maybe the pounding in my head will stop.

My last meal was at 8:30 this morning. It is now 7:15 at night, time to rustle up some grub.

I check my wallet and realize I need to break a $10 if I'm going to use the vending machines. So I head on over to a counter with a Jamaican lady behind it. She has absolutely NO interest whatsoever in me purchasing her wares, so I have all the time in the world to gaze at her collection of beauty store jewelry, Half-sewn teddy bears, $7 a slice mini-pizza-slices the size of a Ritz cracker, and bootleg WCW rip-off figures ~ complete with chipping Chinese paint and breakable title belt.

Finally, I decide to spend $2.15 on an Ice Mountain. I point out what I want and hand over the $10.
She hands me a tiny can of Mountain Dew and tries to charge me an extra $1.75 for it.
This is NOT okay. I demand my money back and the water. NOW.

"What do joo mean you no want Mountain Dew? It is the same it IS the same! I know what joo want, joo want de soda pop!"

"I want NO such thing! You march over there, get me my water and give me back my money, NOW!!"

"What joo problem? It is de same, it is de SAME!!!"

Suddenly, a gorgeous Ebony Magazine model pops up behind me. "Excuse me, but the little lady purchased her Ice Mountain water. I heard the whole thing. Please do what's right and give her what she needs."

The woman behind the counter roughly hands me back my change and my water. "Greedy American! Joo want somting for noting. Greedy greedy."

I smile a thank you to the other lady as I put my wallet away. The model looks to the woman behind the counter. "May I please have some ice for my drink?"

"It is a dollar per ice cube. You give me dollar, you give dollar NOW!!"

"Um... the other station didn't charge me for ice. What's going on here?"

"No such ting, you LIE, Bitch you give me dollar now."

Have you ever felt your skin tingle, just before lighting is about to strike? My hair stood up slowly, as I could feel this charming, eloquent lady beside me, suddenly channel her inner street soldier.

"EXCUSE ME? BITCH WHAT THE FUCK IS YO DAMN PROBLEM??? DON'T MAKE ME CUT A DAMN BITCH FO SOME MUTHAFUCKIN ICE NAW!!"

I grabbed my luggage and skedaddled to the vending machine, just as a 4'6 Chinese man tippie-toed out from behind the counter. "YOU GO NOW!! YOU NO PAYING BITCH! LEAVE NOW!!" 

"AW HELL NAW!!"

I found myself hiding behind the Coke machine until security came to claim the two workers.

8:30 we finally start boarding for Ohio. Sometime after 10, I rolled into Cincinnati.

Now Cincinnati will fool you. When we first rolled in, this city looked amazing. Freshly painted buildings, new light fixtures, and clean streets. I didn't see even ONE piece of garbage anywhere. This city looked absolutely lovely...... and then I saw the people.

The first person I saw was a man with what I thought was an art deco lamp. It had an oval on the bottom, and a circle near the top, and was bright red. I thought "Wow! What an interesting lamp." .. And then he lit the bottom on fire and inhaled whatever smoke came out the top of it.

I saw another dude with a crack pipe (Thank you D.A.R.E. for your coloring book when I was 7) and then I saw a hooker.
She had a dress that stopped before her lady bits, so her va-jay-jay was out for God and everyone to see. She had a fanny pack with a living, screaming, newborn baby inside, strapped to her hip. Her earrings ran past the boob line, and her hair looked like plastic. She angrily chased after a young man, screaming "I KNOW you WANTZ sum o DIS right here!!" pointing to her crotch. This made the baby cry. So, she slapped the baby and yelled "SHUT UP!! Mama be workin'."

I saw a few more hookers, each with shiny, sparkly and far too short dresses, and then a pimp in full regalia. Fur trim on the suit, large hat, sunglasses after 10 at night, gold chains, jewelry, a cane, and LIGHT UP platform shoes with goldfish swimming about. I seriously wish I had filmed this. But before I had the chance to pull out my camera, I saw the most terrifying sight I could have possibly seen... the Switchblade Clown.

Over six feet tall, red and orange spotted hair, wife-beater with paint splatters on it, cargo pants, gold hoop earrings on the right ear, red clown nose and shoes, clown makeup, and a switchblade, that he kept loudly flipping. He started to follow my bus, glaring at it like it personally insulted his Mama.

All of a sudden, I hear *BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM!!* the bus makes a sharp turn, knocking everyone out of their seats. The bus screeches into the station, and we are all hurried outside. Once again, my luggage is hurled at my head, and we are huddled under a TV set inside, and told to keep quiet.

10 minutes later, whatever documentary we were all watching is interrupted. 

"Breaking news! Man shot to death two blocks from Greyhound Station right here in Cincinnati!"

I look outside and see cop cars and news crews jamming up the roads. There is gunfire everywhere and sirens blaring. A little old lady sitting beside me looks up at the gruesome scene on TV and says:

"Oh is THAT all? Gee, and here I thought something went wrong with the bus! Oh you silly Cincinnatians!"

Everyone had a good laugh, and acted like nothing happened.
The local police and the highway patrol came inside, and the Greyhound people told us to keep our cell phones OFF and to not even say a word to anybody outside of the station, unless they had a badge. They didn't know if we'd have to take statements or not.

We ended up not having to say anything to the cops, as these bozos were just happy to walk around us, and stroke their gun holders. They wanted to scare us, but never actually said word one aloud.

As we're all waiting for the next bus, the Switchblade Clown stands outside the windows, glaring at me. The cops see him and opt not to do anything. Frightening the little old ladies inside with me is all the job they can handle right now. Fucking wonderful.

The clown starts pacing back and forth outside, by the window, flipping the switchblade every few seconds, as loud as possible. The door is open a wee bit, but he decides not to step in. So instead, he locks his eyes on me, flipping the blade.

*SHINK* ......................... *SHINK* .............. *SHINK* .............. *SHINK*..................

I was only supposed to be there ten minutes at the most, then head out to Kentucky.

... I was there for two hours and forty five minutes.

I have a watch.

As we're sitting in the spot designated for those heading to Kentucky, I realize that my bus will be full of the elderly and those who are special needs. I talked wrestling with the elderly people, while the special needs ones took turns telling me I reminded them of an old friend someone had back in 1948 who was killed and then reincarnated into a swan. I want to go home, did I just type that?

*SHINK* ......................... *SHINK* .............. *SHINK* .............. *SHINK*..................

I guess the Switchblade Clown didn't have a home to go to, because he spent the entire duration pacing back and forth, while I got to hear the life story of the entire medic unit of 1948.

Finally at 12:45, we are told to line up, as the new driver stands in front of the line.

"Alright ALRIGHT PEOPLE NOW LISTEN UP!! I am only taking passengers 1-10. Anybody got a ticket 1-10? Line up lemme see those 1-10's naw!"

Now here I spot another SNAFU. We all compare our tickets and realize that NONE of us are numbered 1-10 AT FUCKING ALL!! Mine was ticket #11, everyone else had #20 and beyond. So now we know that the people in charge of Greyhound tickets CAN'T FUCKING COUNT, and what does it matter what the damn ticket says anyway? IT'S A BUS!!! YOU SIT WHERE EVER YOU FUCKING WANT TO!!!

But this guy is threatening to leave us all behind, and the Switchblade Clown won't stop staring at me. Slowly, he taps his nose.

*ERR-EE! .......... Errrrrrrrrrrrrr eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*

*SHINK* ......................... *SHINK* .............. *SHINK* .............. *SHINK*..................

I wanna go home now!!

So I make it crystal clear to the asswipe driver that he WILL be taking the lot of us, NOW. I explain the mess with the ticket numbers, and finally, we're on board.

The driver slams the door shut, just as the Switchblade Clown was glaring at the luggage spot. The driver clears his throat.

"May I have yo attention PLEASE? I be yo' driver fo this evening. Our first stop will be in London, Kentucky, we should be arriving at 2:45 eastern time. If you have ANy questions, please step up to the glass and holla at me and we can sort this thang out."

He then gets in my face as I'm turning OFF my cell phone.

"And If I see ANY cell phone light offa that DAMN thang I'mma throw yo' ass OFF this bus, you GOT me??"

Well fuck you too.

The Switchblade Clown gets into a small car, and tails us for a while, occasionally riding beside the window I'm seated at, driving with one hand and flipping the blade with the other.

*SHINK* ......................... *SHINK* .............. *SHINK* .............. *SHINK*..................

If that doesn't put the fear of God into you, nothing will. Ever.

Suddenly the lights inside the Raggedy Bitch express go off. Now I am in the dark, riding alongside the Switchblade Clown, in a bus full of elderly and special needs people. I may not be a religious person, but prayer was had that evening.

The Switchblade Clown didn't stop riding alongside the bust until I was halfway through Lexington ~ a city that believes in turning off ALL the lights on the highway after 9 pm.

Lexington is where something must have gone wrong, or dare I say...... STUPID!!

Now the bus driver is an asshole dejour. The bus is ice cold, so several of the people on board took turns asking him very kindly, to turn the a/c down a little bit.

What does he do? 

Ignores them, and makes it colder.

Now like I said, I am on a bus filled with elderly and special needs people. NONE of these people cops a clue, that asking him to turn the a/c down will actually work.

"Excuse me Mr. Bus Driver, can you please turn the a/c down a bit?"

*FREEEEEEEEEEZE*

"Excuse me sir, but my medication needs to be at room temperature. Can you please turn down the a/c?"

*FREEEEEEEEEEEZE*

This continues, as I notice that we have hit the SAME sign for Lexington about three times already. All of them have the same number and the same destination, Lexington.

I check my cell phone. I realize that I am going to be VERY late.

I tried getting the bus driver's attention. He is NOT talking to me AT ALL. I poked him, spoke loudly, yelled, nothing is working. He's just a glazed donut behind the wheel, as we hit the SAME Lexington sign for a fourth time. I realize that he is going in circles, taking the scenic route ~ IN THE DARK!!

Now I am really upset. So I did something that I do not recommend, because it is VERY dangerous and could have gotten us all killed.

I flipped open my cell phone, waived it on the glass, knowing the light would bounce and hit his eyes, and screamed "HEY MAN WHASSUP??" 

He freaked and started screaming at me. I informed him that we were going in circles and demanded to know when we would reach London.

"Aw. AW SHEET! It'll be anudder hour and a half I guess. Shit."

"Okay, now that I finally have your attention, can you PLEASE turn the a/c down?"

*ARCTIC FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE*

There are people in groups of four and five behind me, huddled onto ONE chair each, trying to keep warm. I am shivering. My teeth are clattering. I am pissed.

At 3:15 in the morning ~ the driver puts the brights on in the bus, blinding everyone. 

"AIGHT! London, Kentucky coming up RISE AND SHINE. People you is gonna have exactly FIVE minutes to get yo' shit if this is yo LAST destination. If you ain't be fast enough to get OFF or get yo' shit, it ain't my muthafucking problem."

I stand up, grab a bar and start riding this bus like fucking Tarzan. I am a foot over the white line. I am pissed off and I want to get HOME.

At 3:49 in the morning, more than an hour past where I should have been let off, I am kicked off the bus at a Shell station.

...... WHAT???

People are being hurled from the bus by this asshole, as he is yelling that this is London, Kentucky.

I march over to the luggage gap as he is being slow with the bags.

"If I don't be seeing' yo' bags I can't give 'em to you. Sorry but it ain't MY fault if you be LAZY about yo' damn bags." 

I am officially LIVID right now.

I flip open the cargo door, climb inside, snatch my pink bag, drag it out, and get nose to nose with this asshole, screaming "AS GOD AS MY WITNESS, I AM NEVER RIDING GREYHOUND AGAIN!!"

I look around the gas station and realize I am seeing NO familiar faces. Panic is setting in.

I walk inside to ask the worker there if he's seen anybody like John. But the worker speaks precious little English, and sounds like a Malaysian spam bot. "YOU want to buy Clark bar YES??? NO???? YES??? Please respond YES????'

My phone buzzes. It's John. Our mutual friend Jimmy is with him.

John: Where are you?
Me: I'M AT A SHELL STATION!!!
John:................................. What?
Me: I AM AT A FUCKING SHELL STATION!!!
John: What are you doing at a Shell station?
Me: I DON'T KNOW!! THEY THREW ME OFF THE BUS HERE!! I'M IN LONDON, BUT I DON'T SEE YOU ANYWHERE, I DON'T KNOW WHERE I AM!!
Some dude behind me: "Missy we're off of exit 38 if it helps.
Me: Thank you sir. SOME DUDE BEHIND ME SAYS I'M OFF OF EXIT 38!!
Jimmy: Exit 38? That's on the opposite side of where we are!!

Using his phone, Jimmy factors that the Greyhound station John was told I would be at does not exist. There is no Armar Oil Company station here, just a Shell station. Good job Greyhound for misleading people!

John: Now honey calm down, we're coming to get you. Where are you standing? Is the place lit?
Me: I'M UNDERNEATH SHELL PUMP NUMBER THREE!! I'M WEARING A SUPER MARIO T-SHIRT, I HAVE A PINK BAG WITH BARBIE ON THE SIDE, AND THERE IS AN INSECT NEXT TO ME THE SIZE OF A SMALL POKEMON!! THERE IS AN ANGRY MOB SIX FEET AWAY, CLUBBING A GREYHOUND BUS WITH SHOES AND HAMMERS!!

Which is the truth. The able-bodied elderly folk at this point had brought out their hammers, and were beating the bus, screaming "You somBITCH does this look like the Armar Oil company to YOU?? It's damn near four in the morning, I have work at FIVE numbnuts!!!" while the bus driver had locked himself back inside the bus, screaming.

Finally, just as the men folk were trying to tip the bus over, John and Jimmy pull up. I race over to the car, thankful to finally see some familiar faces. I plop down beside John and scream "I'M ALIIIIVE!!!" as I am rushed inside to avoid the villagers with sandals.

Upon pulling into the driveway, I tried telling the two about nearly being shot. This is where we played a game called "Guess the most dangerous place Kori has been to today". 

Jimmy: Was it Chicago?
Me: nope:
Jimmy: Dammit.
John: It was Gary, right?
Me: Shockingly no.
John: Shit!
Jimmy: Didja hit Detroit? The Greyhound people said you might have.
Me: Nope. Didn't go that far north.
John: Was it Indy?
Me: Nope. Good guess though.
Jimmy: Cleveland?
Me: Close!
Both: Well?
Me: Cincinnati.
Both: D'AWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!! So close!!

After I called my mom and told her I made it, John gave me a "Thank God you're Safe" kiss, and held me tight. I was finally safe, far away from the moronic Gatorade mom, the nasty Greyhound people, and far far away from the Switchblade Clown.

I'm home.

Kentucky 1: I can has blessing???



This will be a several-part mini series of blogs about the summer of 2013 and what has been going on with me. This post is sentimental, but the next post will be very humorous.


You may have noticed that my last few blogs were about AT&T and pop culture. Outside of the AT&T posts, I haven't really talked about my life until right now. So! It's recap time, m'kay?

So let's go back to May. Right around here, we got the notice that despite negotiations with my parents' lawyer, the house was going to Sheriff's auction anyways. So to summarize:

1. GSF snookered my parents into a loan in 2007.
2. They told my folks to send payment to Countrywide.
3. They sold the mortgage to CitiBank.
4. Citibank inflated the payment cost, and demanded payment every two weeks instead of monthly.
5. Citibank sold the mortgage to NationStar.
6. NationStar foreclosed between July 2011-June 2013.
7. Fannie Mae now owns my house and want us out ASAP so they can knock it down for the new Wal*Mart.
8. All of these transactions happened WITHOUT my parents knowledge or consent. And if you Google these mortgage companies, you will find several pages worth of this happening to other people. So my story on losing the house isn't even rare or special.

Right, now imagine my stress level.

So between items #6-7, my father's father dies.... ranting and raving about how badly he wished my parents' divorce would have gone faster. Yeah, Grandpa died, hating his youngest son's wife and kids and wishing we would leave the family. He really wasn't much of a fan of us. And I was sort of asked not to show up for the funeral. Kinda banned as it was put to me. So um... yeah. Let's move on okay? I don't think I want to deal with this right now.

Well after Grandpa met his maker, my parents were able to sign off on the divorce. They are now divorced, and both are actually quite happy. In fact, they giggled all the way to the courthouse about it. No nasty fights, no screaming fits over who has what, and I am now a retired referee. :D

So in planning a move, trying to get a job in time to pay for said move and all of the above, one would need someone to lean on, right?

...... Well here's where my story takes a beautiful turn. :)

On New Year's Eve, I blogged about one of my best friends ever, a man named John. My best friend since 2009, and one of the few to have ever heard me cry. He's believed in me when I couldn't even believe in myself.

One thing I left out of my blog, is that John is the boy next door I never thought I had a chance with.

I write alot, but when it comes to this sort of thing, I stumble with my words.

When we first started talking on MySpace, I was timid. I had been BURNED badly when a girlfriend of another friend of mine hacked me, and posed as everybody on my friends list to gain personal data on me, so I was really scared, I didn't even give out my phone number at first! But once I knew that this really was John asking for me, I gave out my number, and soon we were gabbing away about wrestling.

I was more hot-headed back then than I am now. (Scary thought much?) And very stuck in my ways. There were a few times I almost lost him because of my temper, but he stayed with me, and helped me to see a different way of life.

I was torn then, I secretly loved John, but I also had feelings for another friend who I never see anymore. I don't want to name names, but let's just say he's on television alot more now then when I last saw him. Strange how bright lights can change people.

John and I didn't always agree on politics, so I didn't think I had any chance with him. I listened from afar when he was with other women, women I thought he'd marry, since he is so much more than a good catch. He listens, he tries to do the right thing as often as possible. He's far more patient than I am. I never thought I stood a chance with such a gentleman. I've always been told how rough I can be, so I was afraid of hurting him. But we would talk forever, almost every night about wrestling, music, what we were watching, stupid people, and soon, we shared our lives with each other. We compared family notes, and I felt safe confiding in him my darkest hours. Even when my heart was broken by the man I originally loved, John was right there to coax me down from the ceiling. Even at my WORST, he never judged me. Not once.

*****************************

My head was on my desk/shelf, just two inches shy of the monitor when the phone rang. I felt like I had been suplexed repeatedly. I was trying as hard as I could to fight back the tears, after my mom told me about there being NOTHING we could do to save the house. My eyes were red from having scanned the entire internet for a solution, and closing my eyes only gave me the Google after-image of 24 search entries. I was babbling HTML code markup in my sleep the night before, and my skin was white with worry.

I picked up the phone, and confided in John how bad off we were with the house. How being a cartoonist just doesn't pay the bills these days, and about how there were no jobs left in my area. None.

I took a weary breath, ready to tell him that I couldn't take living like this anymore. I couldn't deal with the constant pressure, the endless phone-calls to the house from the people who screwed my parents out of their home, constantly being told I wasn't good enough ~ even to work at fucking McDonald's. I just didn't want to go on anymore. I took a breath to say this entire paragraph. I was just about ready to s-

"I love you."

........................................................................................... I'm sorry, say that again John?

"I love you, Koriander. I have always loved you."

............................................................................................

I was quiet for a few minutes. He gulped, worrying that maybe he crossed a line.

Wanna know what I was doing?

Pinching myself.

I wanted to make absolutely sure that I was not dreaming again.

That I hadn't lost my mind.

That I was in reality.

*pinch*

OUCH!!

..................................................................................................................................... Naw for realz and serious I'm NOT dreaming?!?!!?! :D

I didn't know what to say or where to go with this, I didn't want to screw this up.

I didn't post about this blossoming relationship until I felt I was emotionally stable enough to do so. I didn't want to wreck it before it had a chance. It's really not every day your best friend says "I love you" like this.

In this moment, I had been given a reason to keep going, keep on living. I had somebody who needed me as much as I badly need him. I had a clear idea now, I have to go to Kentucky.

I applied anywhere I could, and finally got a job interview lined up in London. I told John when and where, and we devised a plan. He paid my way, all I had to do was pack a bag or two, and head down to Kentucky.

My mom was actually ecstatic for me. She and John had also been friends for about as long as I had, so she felt I'd be safe, like I was just heading down to family as opposed to just randomly moving in with someone. John formally asked her for my hand and she was very happy to say yes. And before long, I was heading out the door for the Greyhound....................................................................................

And on paper, riding the Greyhound seems like a "good" idea. Stay tuned.....

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Does Optimus Prime make my butt look big?

Change.org sent me a petition email. There was a picture of the Hasbro logo, and it said "Click here to read more about this petition". Naturally, I clicked "read more".

I was sent to a page that thanked me for singing a petition I never actually read about. And now it won't let me remove my signature.

The petition is about how we should force Hasbro to include more girls in their Transformers line, so that girls feel more included in a boys' program.

Here's a list of reasons why I want my name OFF this petition immediately:

1. Are we this petty as a society now? Do our girls really need this? Do we really need a hunk of pink plastic to make our girls feel better about being female??

Let me be clear. I am a woman. Always have been female. I was born a girl and yes, I do have much in stereotypical pink.

When I was four, I had a Micro Machines Optimus Prime. I wasn't big on Transformers, but I loved Optimus. I had great fun changing him from a vehicle to a robot and vice versa.

I was totally fine with my red, white and blue Optimus.

I didn't need pink sparkle glitter or detachable boob missiles to make me feel better about playing with a boys' toy.

Playing with Optimus Prime did not make me feel inferior as a sex or less girly. He was a tiny piece of plastic, I was a human being. This was our relationship, and that seems to be just fine.

I didn't grow up confused about my vagina, and I didn't need a support group to tell me how to feel about Optimus Prime.

2. Wikipedia has a list of female Transformers a mile long. Arcee for example transforms into a badass motorcycle. Some of them have boyish, amazing names too, like Firestar (also a Marvel character who rips off of DC's Starfire), Override, Airazor, Solus Prime and Red Alert.

Even the Japanese Transformers ~ known to be VERY male oriented ~ has several strong, independent, female transformers. They are all easy to find, and serve the same purpose as the males.

3. It is unfair that we demand these boy shows to suddenly up the ante on Girl Power, when we still allow the Barbie, Bratz, Moxie, My Little Pony and Monster High lines to teach little girls that boys are nothing more than accessories.

Think hard. Ken doesn't have a car. Ken rarely has a job and when he does, it's a stereotypical job like doctor or fitness trainer.

The Bratz Boyz have NO empowering positions, and are actually made to look like emasculated victims of abuse. They hide behind the Bratz Girlz, never speak unless told to, and are often seen wearing their girlfriendz' hand-me-downs. Again, no jobs, no stature. These Boyz are on the same level as Yasmin's purse.

The boy Ponies are usually brought out for the holiday season, but are relegated to the background of the cartoon. They have no power whatsoever.

And when was the last time you saw a boy getting equal treatment in Strawberry Shortcake? Think hard, she suffers from reverse Smurf disease. There is ONE boy per town ~ and he looks like one of the girls with different hair.

4. We need to teach little girls that it's not okay to force a boy line to be all about girl power, and then not do the same for boy power with a girls line.

We need to teach girls to accept that it's okay to play with something that has boy colors on it. Accept that not everything needs a princess tiara. If we don't teach them to accept boys or boy toys as children, when will they learn? We can't enable gender resentment just because Optimus Prime likes to have a boy's night out once in a while.

We need to tell kids that it's okay to have at least ONE toy that is specifically suited for their gender. That they are not less sensitive to another child for liking something gender-specific.

Above all, I'd like to think that we are at a point where we can tell little girls that it's okay for them to play with Optimus Prime, without needing him to be a woman, or in stereotypical pink, purple and yellow plastic.

... And when did purple and yellow stop being gender neutral?

When I was a kid, yellow and purple baby toys were bought when you wanted to throw a baby shower, but didn't know the gender of the unborn yet. It was also for children who were both genders. When did this change?

Think rationally America.

If your daughter needs a pink sparkle transformer to feel better about being a girl, then maybe it's time you set aside some time to have a chat with her.

Something is very wrong if she needs to have a sparkly, pink hunk of plastic to accept herself.

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Money is no excuse for stupidity, but we'll pretend it is!

I live by a simple, honest ideology.

Money is NOT an excuse for stupidity.

Sure, it's a nice shade of green, and right now I could use an elephant's butthole full of it, (not that I go elephant butthole fishing mind you, but you have the idea) but it is still just a tool. You collect it, and then give it away to pay for things, like food and shelter and electricity.

But it's a tool. Like a shovel.

If I do something stupid, I can't in good faith ask you to accept it, because I have a shovel, can I? Money is no different. It too is a tool, and can't be used as a crutch for ignorance.

Let me show you a few examples.

Example #1:
Wal*Mart underpays it's employees, giving them a wage not even befitting the poverty line. The employees are working 10-18 hour shifts, with no benefits.

A responsible adult says "Hey! That's not fair."

A non-Walmart-employee-who-has-never-even-worked-there says "Um um.... JUST SHUT UP OKAY??? Wal*Mart makes money, so SHUT UP!!"

Example #2:
The WWE fires Matt Striker. Now nobody seems to be at fault, this was not a stupid idea, and it looks like a friendly parting of the ways, so don't expect me to point fingers.

I say "Well.. outside of the one DVD set I saw on Netflix, I can't say they really did much with him this past year." And leave the statement of fact right there. Not one finger is pointed, nobody is blamed. All I did was state the obvious. I didn't even use a cross word.

A non-WWE-employee says "HEY!! He MADE money, SHUT UP!!!"

Are we seeing a pattern yet? Here's another.

Example #3:
A dude in new York hits a pedestrian with his car.
He is caught, and has to go to court.
Everyone agrees this is normal.

A dude in Chicago hits a pedestrian with his car.
He is caught and shot.
People argue if the shooting went too far, but agree that he did a wrong and justice was served.

Justin Bieber hits a pedestrian. 
Um um... SHUT UP JEALOUS FUGLY HOE!! He's gotz monayz and you jeaous. HA HA!!

Do you see what has happened here?

We train ourselves and our children as a society to believe... no... pretend, that if someone does something you don't like or that hurts people, it's 100% okay, normal and you should copy it, because they have money.

When did this start?

Let's pretend that a bodybuilder is kicking a newborn puppy. The puppy is tiny, defenseless, and was just minding his own business, not even barking, when suddenly, this heartless behemoth comes barreling out of nowhere, and punts the puppy across the street.

Of course if you saw the bodybuilder kicking the puppy, you will want to step in and say "CUT IT OUT!!" or you're whip out the smart phone and call the police. You'd yell and scream, so that other people can see the situation, and get the bodybuilder to stop kicking the puppy.

Now let's imagine the bodybuilder is a movie star. An athlete, a singer. Someone with money.

What then?

Do you continue to do the right thing, and tell him to stop kicking the puppy?

OR

Seeing he has a Wikipedia page about him, do you tell everyone dialing 911 "Um Um err um... SHUT UP OKAY LOSER??? He's got MONEY. He KNOWS what he's doing and you don't. He's making money, SHUT UP!!" And then prattle praise for him while he plays hackeysack with the baby animal?

This is where we are as a society. Fame and fortune are now the Get-Out-Of-Adult-Responsibility card for those in power.

We let companies like Monsanto poison us to death, simply because they have cash.

We let companies like Viacom tell our children to view education as the devil himself, and act sexy before they're even tweens, because they have status.

We let celebrities openly break the law, putting innocent lives at risk, because they have Wikipedia pages about them.

We are too permissive, and yet at the same time, too hateful.

The whistle-blowing citizens and the poor have fingers pointed at them. We tell the children to jeer at them, make up lies and hurt them, view them as the enemy, while anybody with a verified Twitter account is encouraged to to unto others whatever they want.

We need to start acting like human beings again, and stop permitting bad behavior based on status.

The chemicals we have in our food is helping us to grow more wool than a sheep in winter.

But that doesn't mean we have to act like them.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Now how does AT&T respond to my blog?

So two days after writing my humorous but sadly, accurate AT&T post, we get a package at the door for a Pace 4111N router.

We are told that the first problem was that the year-old 2WIRE modem I had before is "Ew. So old" and that 2WIRE products outside of the cheap, plastic stand, are no longer sold by AT&T. They are 2WIRE free.

To confirm, I actually did go to their website, and sure enough, not even a mention is left on the page.

What we were NOT told is that the Pace 4111N Router, is made in China by a company without a website (at least not one found by Google) and is... in fact... a 2WIRE.

AT&T bought out the company initially responsible for 2WIRE products, and have sent the tech specs out to some random place in China, so that new, black 2WIRES can be built, but under different name brands. Isn't that awesome?

Also, the Pace 4111N that we got is a year old. Had we not gotten a hardship discount for the blown service, it would have been $100. Thankfully ours was free of charge.

Set the box up and for a few hours, we had slow, then normal internet speed. The box lights keep blinking, and I have no clue if this is normal.

A dude from AT&T was parked outside. Apparently, someone from AT&T installed "something new" and fiddled with wires they shouldn't have... which blew out phone and internet for 4 blocks worth of people. I can't make that up. What the Hell did you have installed, a NASA station???

So everything "seemed" fine........................... until I tried to relax by playing on my Nintendo DS Lite.

........... No connection.

Error code 51300.

No WEP key.

Okay, no problem. Let me type in the WEP key........... and I shit you not, the number 666 is in the title.
Not like THAT'S suspicious or anything.

So I type in the key and the SSID number. Nothing.

My brother tries his 3DS, saying that maybe because my DS was used and a series one model, that this is why it can't connect.

............... Nada.

This is insane. The Roku and Mama's laptop are picking up just fine. No issues at all. But the handhelds are rejecting the WEP key.

So I go to Nintendo's support page. My router is nowhere to be found. 

I Google the router.

There is no manufacturer's website.
There is no Facebook.

Instead there are two straight pages of comments on Best Buy, about this thing dropping signal, freezing and taking the computers attached hostage, and not picking up anything ~ I dunno ~ fun, like a Nintendo.

So I hit up AT&T's website, they have instructions on how to hook up a PS3, PS2, XBOX 360 and the Wii, but that's it. No other video game consoles. Isn't it awesome how they stay up to date?

10:35 at night, my mom gets a call on her cell phone. I can't believe my ears, it's AT&T. 10:35 at night??? Holy cow, I am amazed. The call is to see if we got the box. My mom explains the issues with the Nintendos.

The work around?

1. Open Browser
2. Enter code
3. Go through entire modem.
4. Change everything
5. Scroll down
6. Re-write code
7. Save Changes
8. Enter new password, change password to WEP key.
9. Now reconfigure every freaking device in the house, because it will deactivate internet connection.
10. Keep AT&T number handy in case the phone goes out again. (I want you to read that one out loud.)

He also said twice that there is NO guarantee that we'd actually get back service for ANY device, but it's something to do.

Total time according to the 10:35 at night AT&T tech? An hour or so.

................................................................................... Or I could get a new service.

EDIT: My mother adds:

You forgot to mention that at TWO separate times in the conversation with this tech, he DID mention that IF I choose to do this, AT&T is NOT responsible for my service derping out on a permanent level AND that this has a good percentage of not working at all AND taking out the existing service that we currently juuuuust got back.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

America wants dead women, and only live babies so we can have dead soldiers. The Bible is NOT a shield.

Some days, I hate that I was born a woman.

It's no different from being a caged animal.

Everyone wants to control the body God gave you, but nobody wants to help you when you need them.

It's evil to be a woman in America. I sin every time I breathe.

No redemption for a uterus.

You point out what people do and say, and they call YOU stupid or crazy.

Pretend that they know better than you, because they don't have your uterus.

Pretend that not knowing anything about a woman's life or basic science for that matter, makes them Holy.

"Even rape babies deserve more than YOU" That's what we teach our children to say.

We teach them that hate = love.

Until it's their daughter who needs help, it's "fuck you whore" until you die.

And people tell VIRGINS they're whores now!

Newborn virgins.

Everyone hid behind their Bibles and forced your mom to have you, but as soon as you live, you are a welfare whore.

Why?

Because Mommy needed Government aid after nobody would hire her.

Because she decided to give birth to you.

After we bullied her, and called her a murderer if she even thought about an abortion.

But now you live.

But you're on welfare?

Fuck you, whore.

We tell babies this now.
*******************************************************************************
I fear for any future daughters, nieces or granddaughters I may have.

Assuming I don't die trying to birth one.

I'll try to live for my future children. I do want to see their faces as they grow. Want to hold them, and nurture them, teach them to respect the other gender as if it was their own, so I have no child beating his/her spouse, and knowing only love. I dream of this.

But I fear if they will live under the oppression I see right now.

I fear they will be told what my society tells me.

"Shut up whore. Don't oppress my way of thinking while I'm trying to oppress you."

I'm scared if my children turn out to be girls.

I pray they don't see the world I deal with.

I pray they never know from accidental or forced pregnancies.

I pray. Who listens?

Someone ought to, for them, right?

Maybe that's why I blog. So I can better the world they might have.

Just a little.

A woman can imagine, can't she?

Or is that not allowed?
******************************************************************************
A woman has sex, but her lover either didn't use a condom or his protection broke.

It's her fault.

What? Are you trying to get a job? Public aid? An abortion or someone to adopt this THING you weren't ready for? Section 8 housing that's bigger than your one bedroom apartment in case you do want to be a mom after all?

You're a whore.

Fucking stupid whore. I hope you die.

Let me Facebook about it.

What? CHURCH aid? Don't be stupid. The church can't save you now. We can pray, but we'll be too busy talking behind your back to offer support.

You're a sinner.
*****************************************************************************
A woman in America gets raped.

Her attackers generally go free, or have a minimal sentence, while she has hate pages about her on Facebook. "Die Whore" is painted over her picture, and she is told it was her fault.

"What did you do to get raped? This MUST be YOUR fault", chides the cops.

She has to PROVE she was attacked, PROVE she wasn't at fault.

While her attackers make fun of her on Twitter.

What do we tell her?

Get over it. Move on. Stop crying.

A woman becomes pregnant due to rape. We force her to pay for nine months of prenatal care ~ BUT ~ we refuse to help her get a job. Why? Because pregnant women are risks. Nobody wants to be sued if she miscarries.

So she's jobless.

She tries to apply for welfare or food stamps?

♫ Welfare WHORE Welfare WHORE milking the system die die die ♪ sing total strangers on Facebook.
*********************************************************************************
If she gives it up for adoption? She's immature. Can't take care of anything.
If she has an abortion? She's a murderous whore.

The Government loves to outsource our jobs, so she can't have one.

Slash her pay, so she earns the same as a modern day slave.

Kill medical bills and clinics that keep her alive.

Slash medical research.

Restrict what she can do in public.

Nobody cares if she has an ectopic pregnancy.

Nobody cares if she can't afford nine months of prenatal care or a child.

Nobody cares if she dies.

In fact, people love it when she dies. They make pages about it on Facebook, celebrating her death with Clorox coupons.
*************************************************************************
Everyone pretends they're doing this for God, ignoring how pro-choice he is in the Bible. (Ask a Canaanite)

Ignoring passage after passage where he allowed Moses, and many more men to rip open wombs, stab women, and placed curses on whole families for their sins.

Ignoring the separation of church and state, in the name of someone they don't actually know. A stipulation Jesus actually would like, since he wasn't too big on churches himself.

No, let's ignore the facts. Woman is the problem. Fuck her.
********************************************************************************
But if she does have a baby? The baby is a welfare whore.

George Carlin said it best. They want live babies so they can have dead soldiers.

When these unwanted "whore" babies grow up? We push them into the military.

We make up reasons for them to die for our "freedom".

You know, the very thing a woman does not have.

Freedom.

Women don't deserve that word.

Especially not for the body they were born with.

Fuck her, she was born to be a whore.

And when we can't fuck her anymore.................

We turn on our boys.

Then what?

Monday, June 17, 2013

Thank you for calling AT&T

Ever wonder why people go mad? This is why.

Call #1:
Thank you for calling AT&T. We have detected that you are having a problem. 

Yes, I see a problem is what you are having. Now that we have established there is a problem, you should be happy customer now, because I acknowledge that a problem without resolution at all is in your grasp. You have a problem and we see the problem. 

Thank you and have a good day. *CLICK*

Call #2:
Thank you for calling AT&T yet again, because in acknowledging that you have a problem, we didn't actually fix it, we just accepted it as part of our U-Verse, which we have a sale on right now.

We are experiencing a high volume of calls, all linked with us cutting phonelines in your area, jamming signals and letting our highly trained professionals chew on your broadband links. We will now ask you to check every phone in the house to see if they are off the hook. 

Of course they are not, and there is nothing wrong with the phones themselves, but at AT&T, we enjoy wasting as much time as possible. 

We will also tell you to do a Power-Cycle, whereby you turn off the computer, unplug everything, and then plug it all back in. This also won't fix your non-internet-based phoneline, but it gives you something to do while we eat SubWay and fiddle on a copy of computer solitaire from 1995.

Thank you for calling your friends at AT&T. Even though you paid your bill before it was due, we will now take the time to tell you how you can pay us double for half the service.

Call #3:
After consulting our staff here at AT&T we have determined that while you have no phone signal or dial tone, that we will now act as if the problem is all imaginary.

However, since you have threatened our misogynistic and racist call center in India with a flight to their main office in Calcutta via Chuck Norris airlines, we will now schedule a tech to come out, poke at the wires, stomp on the siding of your house and pick his nose while telling you you need a new DSL modem box for your NON-INTERNET phone. 

He will arrive surely and half-awake promptly at 7:30 Thursday evening. 

Yes, we do know it's Monday afternoon, but at AT&T, we are not authorized to actually care.

Please enjoy not having a landline phone until then. 

Thank you for calling. Before we hang up on you and laugh, we will now send you to an automated message about AT&T U-verse, untraceable-and-a-pain-to-prove-it's-existence-in-court-paperless bills, and a myriad of other products that you couldn't possibly use.

Call #4:
Thank you for calling AT&T again. You likely have noticed that there are 10 AT&T trucks in your area, just zooming around and not actually doing anything, but trying to look important.

We also know about the 400 lbs. man in front of your home, with the ladder half slanted over the truck, playing with his iPhone and blaring 2Chainz as loud as humanly possible, shattering your windows. He is far too busy picking his ear to actually run up the pole and fix the phone, so right now, his truck is for decoration only.

Your actual worker is scheduled for Thursday night at 7:30, but may not arrive until 8:15 Friday night due to the high volume of people we have screwed out of phone service.

Thank you and have a nice day.

Call #5:
Thank you for calling AT&T! You are likely calling to ask about the four, Java heavy ads we just crammed your Facebook feed with. You have noticed that these ads are the only things loading correctly, while the rest of your Facebook feed says "Broadband Link Not Available" and that these ads are super smarmy, and mostly lead you to items and services that are not available for your area. 

Why the snub? Because we are AT&T. Goodbye! *CLICK*

Call #6:
Thank you for calling AT&T. 

Judging by the volume with which you screamed into the automated voice system, and by the tone of voice and NC-17 rated dialogue you used when addressing our surely, agitated, underpaid, overworked, disagreeable and misogynistic call manager in the Philippines, informing him that no, he may not speak to the man of the house, because it is the woman who is actually in charge of the bills, and the violent manner you were planning on utilizing when threatening to sodomize him with a Medieval Morning Star coated in hot sauce and habanero juice, that a squirrel sneezed down the street and two blocks over from your house, resulting in the immediate discontinuation of your internet signal, which was your last line of communication. 

We agree that there is a problem with the service, but right now we have opted not to boost the signal or try anything useful. 

Your technician may arrive later than Saturday night. We understand that this is Monday, and we originally told you we would send somebody out Thursday night, but there is a valuable reason why we are not willing to honor our original meeting.

Because fuck you. That's why.

Thank you for calling your friends at AT&T. *CLICK*

Call #7:
Thank you for calling AT&T. We see in our records that this is the seventh time you have made it through without being hung up on today, yet this is the 18th time you have called us today over all. 

We also see by our GPS service that a slight, infinitesimal breeze blew past your house, thus knocking out the Wi-Fi. There is no rain scheduled for your area today, and yet our service just blew out like a 120 Watt bulb in a 40 watt capacity lamp from the 1960's.

Now that we have told you about the GPS system, you have figured out that we are using Apple Maps via the iPhone of one of our call center staffers. 

We advise you to please stop flipping off and mooning the big brother satellite in the sky. You are only providing more entertainment for our interns in the Philippines, who spend their down time off the clock spamming anime-related Facebook groups with the phrase "put a dick inside another dick plz follow bak ♥♥ :(" and posting duck photos of themselves in front of Justin Bieber posters in their mother's bathrooms.

Upon zooming in closer via our iPhone app, which by the way is running smoothly on our end, we can see that you are legit crying blood. We have established that blood crying is a problem, caused by our service.

Thank you for spending an entire work day on the phone with your friends from AT&T. 

Please hold while we direct you back to the surely, American-hating asswipe who took your US born job. While he is making only five cents per dollar, in his country, he will be able to retire early and buy a mansion, scrubbed daily by the D cup breasts of 112 virgins, because five cents to us is roughly $30 to him. 

Please refrain from cursing your existence on this planet, while we blare the elevator-swag version of Fergie and the Black Eyed Peas's "My Humps" as done by a caffeinated hipster, who is crying over a MIDI keyboard, because his Emo girlfriend of three months just dumped him for another woman.

*My HUMPS.... my humps... My lovely lady LUUUUUUUUUMPS!!! AAaaaaaaaaaaah AHAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH*

Tenk yew for kalling AT&T my name is Malachai. How kan I help yew tudey? Yes I see you have a problem, a problem is what you are having. Thank you and have a nice day. *CLICK*