dear broadstripe

(the following contains adult content and should be treated as satire. so don't bitch at me for not being politically correct!)

Hello Broadstripe,
it's me. your loyal customer colin. you remember me. 5 yrs ago we started our torrid affair. you know, the one where i pay you an exuberant amount of money for the glory that is cable television and internet.
you had a different name back then, when we first met. both so young and innocent. but that's okay, we both survived your identity crisis, and it's not like you changed. well there was that price increase, but i assure you i noticed no difference in your product or customer care. you stayed true to your word, same company you've come to know, but with a fresh new name. really it's okay. i understand. i was a different person back then too. full of promise, in love, happy, naive. but enough about the past.
i know we've had our ups and downs throughout the years. and i know you swore to never make me a promise you couldn't keep. so you never made me any promises. it's a flawless logic really when you think about it. you've been a constant companion to me, a consummate roommate. the only one to never eat my food, to ruin my furniture, to keep my up at the late hours of the night with your horrible drunk laughter or animal sex noises. Broadstripe you never even made a pass at me or even tried to sleep with me. i know. it's okay. i was hurt for a while there. i questioned my self too for a while. but i realized that we truly are from different worlds.
but the other day, after my long day at the office. you know the office? that place i go to so i can provide a roof over our heads. that place that pays me so i can pay you. novel concept really when you think about. perpetuating the cycle. it's the economic consumer circle of life. but yes that day. i got home, i built a fire, cleaned my lunch box and returned my freezer packs to their icey domain. and you know what Broadstripe? it was at that moment, while shutting the white door to the arctic that i had an epiphany! i wanted to get on the internet.
making my way to my computer i navigated my mouse over that bright orange firefox icon and click!
pause.........................................
pause.........................................
confusion~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
pause.........................................
frustration<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
pause.........................................
anger*********************
i looked at my modem and there were only two, count them, two green lights. well that's no good i thought to myself. after an exhausting maintenance check i came to the conclusion that you Broadstripe, you had spited me. so i did what any rational and sensible person would do, i called "customer service."
and i waited, and waited. i waited for you Broadstripe, i waited for you to send my s.o.s. contained within my cellular bottle to one of your proficient, trained and certified worker bee server technicians. the one i came to know as Becky.
it' okay Becky, i don't hate you. i realized long ago that stupidity is something you're born with. and surely i can't blame you for being born retarded. it's not like idiocy is a disease, and nor is it your fault that our education system has been drastically spiraling for decades. and i mean come on, you spoke English. that obviously qualifies you to do most mundane tasks in this country right? certainly i cannot in good conscience feel hostility towards you, i mean, i don't even know you, all i know Becky is that you were my last vestige of hope.
you Becky, you who are skilled, and well versed in the ways of default gateways and ip addresses and subnet masks. a shepherd patiently waiting to guide us wayward and lost souls back towards the light. sitting with your headset on your posture-pedic chair in your pseudo walled world dubbed "cubicle." whose land is littered with sea shells, pencil holder, stapler, tape dispenser, and small brown bear with big red heart from a man you wished you had left your spouse for fourteen years ago before the kids. before your ass fell out and chin was a mere 1.25 instead of 2.
with your g.e.d. hanging next to pictures of your 2.5 toe headed children, your balding, mustached husband, the crayon stick figure drawing from the Ethiopian child your protestant church said you Becky, you were destined to save at a mere 10 cents a day. it is you with your training certificate neatly framed with printed signature from an instructor you knew as brief and well as i a one night stand.
yes Becky it was you who condemned me. a stranger whose only crime was needing your help. or was it you Becky? was it you who was born with an intelligence deficiency, or was it our mutual acquaintance Broadstripe that had shorted the both of us. forcing you to wear the modern chains of slavery dubbed headset and acrylic nails, and i, forced to suffer from the want of what i cannot have.
Becky, i forgive you. your "i don't knows" and long drawn out moments of silence spent trying to coax that hamster wheel brain of yours to come up with a solution to a problem you could not name. i forgive you. after all, like the inhabitants of 3rd world countries, the gays, the blacks, jews, like all retards around the world, you cannot help that you were born this way.

(the previous paragraph would be the politically incorrect "satire" that we mentioned earlier.)

And you Broadstripe, my dear, dear, old friend (sigh). it's not like i am a customer. it's not like i deserve and should expect quality service. no, no, no, i shouldn't mind waiting 9 days to maybe, just maybe have some one come and fix your broken modem. i don't mind, i don't mind.
no. I DON'T FUCKIN' MIND AT ALL!
Hey I know! Yeah I know. Listen to this cuz let me tell you, you are gonna love the fuck outta this shit, let me tell you. How about this? You ready, ok. How about I SHOVE MY FUCKING FIST UP MY FLAT WHITE TIGHT VIRGIN ASS?! Huh? How about I do that? That way Broadstripe, that way we can both FUCK ME! Yeah le's make it a team sport thing. We can synchronize even. I'll get my stopwatch, you get yours. We can make up signals and write a goddamn fist fucking ass raping playbook. Oh I can see it now Broadstripe. You and I elbow deep in my sphincter. Together. Like a team. No not a team. Like BFFFF's. Yeah, I'll say. Best Fist Fucking Friends Forever. that's a beautiful thing Broadstripe. A beautiful thing indeed. Some Sistine chapel Michelangelo shit. Some Purple Mountain Majesty shit.
It's some soul-type-love-shit. Yeah, you dig? i dig, i dig. it's the kinda love that only a big business can give. it is sweet, and oh so generous.

you think you're better than the truth

I don’t understand
How you can look at yourself
Every single fucking day
Deny the truth
Internal scars
Hidden beneath the lies
You’ve been selling to everyone
Including yourself

So who the fuck do you wanna be
What the fuck do you wanna be
Magdalena?
Dalia?
Delilah?
Some fucking whore I can't
Remember?
I’ll give you whatever you crave
Just go the fuck away!

So far removed from you
I got a dollar for every pound of flesh
You’ve carved
Outta me
So far removed from you
I got a dollar for every moment of pain
You’ve caused me
So far removed from you
I got a dollar for every ounce of blood
You’ve sucked
Outta me

I don’t look a thing like you
And I don’t believe the things
you tell me, you want me to
Disembody my sense of self
With your beauty
Tear at my convictions
With you deciet
You stab me in the back
With your I love you’s
And forget me nots!

I won’t let myself
get dragged down
by you
Selfish and pathetic
creature
Enjoy your new stature
Your position on your knees
It fits you better
Spread and wanting
You will never be a queen

coffee etiquette - a brief synopsis

wow. a blog. besides myspace i can't say i've done this. and right now, i do believe i'm talking to myself. or typing to myself, whatever you wanna call it. and seeing as "you" at the moment is really only "me" i'm gonna go with talking to myself.
well now that we got that fuckery outta the way...
i'm supposed to write something right? intelligable and worldy. some insightful glimpse at a topic of interest.
hmm...
i'm not sure i want this job now that you've offered it to me. sounds pretentious and megalomaniacal (great kmfdm song by the way!)
anywho...
while i normally bitch about things, i don't have much time today; office drudgery tends to interefere and consume time)
so we'll stick with a simple topic, something that never ceases to amaze me, and it's work related! hooray! ok. not really. i'm not really in the mood. i have other things on my mind. like stabbing my ex in the back with the lies that have been exposed.
oh sweet jesus it will be beautiful.
but i'm gonna save that whore and her whorish means for something better.
coffee.
yep! coffee. and since we're in seattle, this is some serious shit! the only other beverage of greater concern would be a micro brew, cuz god knows we got a shitload of those.
so coffee...
or should i say the lack thereof.
in an office environment, of which you may or may not be familiar with, there is free coffee. perhaps in a lounge or kitchen area. or somewhere, i don't know where you work.
and we as fellow worker bees/salves/drones, you would hope and think, look out for one another. well unless stabbing some one in the back gets you places. but that makes you a prick so we won't be discussing your kind today.
get in line!
anywho, why is it so goddamn hard for people to make more coffee?
i mean, if you used the last of it, why not make some more?
why torture poor innocent me by leaving the fuckin' pot out to tease me?
you know, i'm walking to the kitchen to get more coffee. and damnit i'm pretty happy that i'm gonna get to drink more coffee. but what? what is this crap?
when i push down on the thermos/dispensers top and all i get is the wheeze and sputtering of an old man you know what...?
it really pisses me the fuck off!
are you that full of yourself that you can't take the the 23 seconds (yes i counted it out) to make more coffee?
it's like you're giving me the finger or rubbing your nose at me. wtf did i do? huh? i fill it back up when i get the last of it. i'm not some douchebag that expects every one else to do things for me.
and it's not like i'm asking you to stand there and wait for it to get done. oh special little me.
no no no. that would be a red flag against h.r. and god forbid we waste precious corporate hours and invoke the wrath of h.r.. no i just want you to leave it. and then, then you can go about your business.
but no. you just walk off. cuz you're too important for me. oh lord. simple me the purchaser. the one that makes sure we have a fuckin' budget to afford coffee. ingrates!
and now this what you get! haha!
my revenge! wasting your precious labor hours on the internet blogging about you, you that shall remain nameless to the public at large.
ha!
take that. you like that? bet you don't feel so high and mighty now do you.
lol
this blog is retarded.
but i had to type something.
be even more retarded if i just made a profile and sat on it.
fucking waste.
anyway though. for real.
does anyone else put up with this shit? we need to get all these holier than thou sloth types together, we'll make it a show, and we'll see what kind of productivity we can get out of them when they are faced with the challenge of doing it themselves.
anywho.
i'm done.
goodbye silence.
invoice reconcilliations here i come!