Friday, November 20, 2009

The Tale of the Bitch Ass

Okay, okay, I promised TWO rotten days ago that I'd write to you lovelies the very next day. And I broke that promise. I sincerely apologize from the bottom of my rotten black miserable lump of coal heart. Once you hear, however, how massively yesterday sucked balls, I think that you'll agree I should be magnanimously forgiven (and showered with sympathy, affection, blog views, nominations for Ruler of the World, and perhaps some daiquiri mixes.)

First off, you might remember that I have a massive head cold/plague/ebola/hanta virus. I always like to mention hanta virus because honestly, what the eff is scarier than bleeding from all your orifices? Orifici? Totally! Anyway - my head is congested on a scale that defies comparison, so basically, I feel like a ship listing to port every single time I move. In case you didn't guess, I'm not a 'good' sick person - I don't sit in the corner and quietly swallow my misery - nope, I share it with the world!

More specifically, I share my misery with bitch asses idiots who call me at dinner time, when I am obviously browning taco meat and caring for my wonderful offspring to rudely demand THIRTEEN DOLLARS that I accidentally didn't include on a check. Seriously. I tried to give this bitch ass my credit card number and she gleefully told me that they also charge $8 to process it. Then she added that she could mess with my credit score. Really? I mean, really??? I asked her if she took pleasure in her job.

"Excuse me?" The Bitch Ass
"Yeah, because you're obviously enjoying telling me this. I don't personally owe YOU thirteen whole dollars. I owe a giant corporation, and I honestly don't care. Your tone sucks." Me
"Don't you think if you dialed it down we could do this faster?" Bitch Ass
"I think if you took my credit card number we could do this faster." Me

I ended up paying that whopping thirteen dollars online and didn't have to talk to Bitch Ass anymore.

Here's the moral of the story: when you call me to demand money that I have and agree to pay you, you might want to go with that instead of acting like a giant Dick Tater Assbag Douche who rules the universe. Just saying.

Normally I'm an awesome person, ifIdosaysomyself. Yesterday I was an awesome person making dinner, on cold medication, who hadn't had a very swell day. I respect any person who is earning a living - what I don't respect is someone who uses a job like collection calls to fulfill some sort of private revenge/power fantasy. Then again, she might have been calling from Cell Block E of the women's prison, where the labor was outsourced to inmates with good behavior, and she might show up to shank me in my sleep. This is why I have to have prison-inmate-shanking contingency plans.... and I do, my friends, I do...

So that's it for today - I won't list the rest of my angst but trust me, it was angsty! I promise I'll write to you more faithfully, because I know you live for it - and if you don't, you really should.

Comments, questions, met any bitch asses lately?

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