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.