I have an idea for a new invention. Hear me out on this one.
We’ve all been put on hold. Many times, we’ve been put on hold before we’ve even had the chance to talk to a real person. “Your call is important to us, please stay on the line and our next available representative will help you,” says the recording. It’s frustrating, it’s annoying, it’s downright unethical.
If you’re like me, you’re prone to speaking to the recording. When it interrupts your crappy music every ten seconds to remind you how important you are, it’s difficult to suppress a “Fuck you,” or “Shut up, bitch!”
So here’s my invention: a recording that responds to verbal abuse.
It would be responses you’d want to hear, things like, “You’re right. We all suck at this company.” Or maybe, “Yes, I know. I’m sorry I’m a bitch. Would you like to spank me?”
Imagine yelling, “Fuck you!” into the phone and then hearing a sexy female voice respond, “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!”
Believe me, when that customer service representative picks up, you’ll ask to be put back on hold.
And thus, the world became a better place.
11/30/2005
11/20/2005
Though most people are in agreement, I’ve taken a bit of flak from some of my male friends regarding my blanket statement that Hugh Hefner’s “Girlfriends,” are unattractive.
Don’t get me wrong. I respect Hugh. He’s the definition of class, and we are using the plural “girlfriends” here. Who can do better than that? But I think his choice in mates is very blind-sighted.
It would be difficult to describe them without falling into cliché. They are the typical big-breasted, platinum blonde bimbos. Some guys like that kind of thing, I know this. And maybe they’re not bimbos; maybe one of them has got a PHD.
But the fact remains, looking at them makes you feel hollow inside. Why?
Imagine looking over the statues in the Louvre in Paris. Find a statue of a nude goddess in a provocative pose. Then take a belt sander and grind away the outer layer of this statue until it is one smooth, unblemished form. Sand thoroughly until all traces of tone or uniqueness are gone, and then polish the statue until it has a glimmering shine. Pour bleach on the statue and let it fill all the tiny pores and nooks that may someday grow to cause the statue to show age or maturity. Then, start attaching new rocks to the chest area. These rocks need not be the correct size or color to make them look like a natural part of the statue. Apply an extremely thick coat of colored varnish to the face.
Now look at that, and tell me you don’t feel hollow…
Don’t get me wrong. I respect Hugh. He’s the definition of class, and we are using the plural “girlfriends” here. Who can do better than that? But I think his choice in mates is very blind-sighted.
It would be difficult to describe them without falling into cliché. They are the typical big-breasted, platinum blonde bimbos. Some guys like that kind of thing, I know this. And maybe they’re not bimbos; maybe one of them has got a PHD.
But the fact remains, looking at them makes you feel hollow inside. Why?
Imagine looking over the statues in the Louvre in Paris. Find a statue of a nude goddess in a provocative pose. Then take a belt sander and grind away the outer layer of this statue until it is one smooth, unblemished form. Sand thoroughly until all traces of tone or uniqueness are gone, and then polish the statue until it has a glimmering shine. Pour bleach on the statue and let it fill all the tiny pores and nooks that may someday grow to cause the statue to show age or maturity. Then, start attaching new rocks to the chest area. These rocks need not be the correct size or color to make them look like a natural part of the statue. Apply an extremely thick coat of colored varnish to the face.
Now look at that, and tell me you don’t feel hollow…
11/15/2005
About a month and a half ago, my gym terminology changed.
When I say I “Go,” to the gym, what I mean is that I’m more of a “Silent Partner;” watching things from behind the scenes and occasionally sending in money to keep things running smoothly.
Occasionally, I’ll wander over to the facility, scope things out, and go back home, satisfied that they’re carrying on just fine without me.
When I say I “Go,” to the gym, what I mean is that I’m more of a “Silent Partner;” watching things from behind the scenes and occasionally sending in money to keep things running smoothly.
Occasionally, I’ll wander over to the facility, scope things out, and go back home, satisfied that they’re carrying on just fine without me.
11/10/2005
There really needs to be a hand signal that says, “I’m sorry that you are agitated and felt the need to blare your horn, but, as you can see, I am properly obeying the yield sign and giving the other driver the right of way.”
Unfortunately, the closest thing we have is the hand signal that says, “FUCK YOU!”
There’s kind of a huge leap in tone there. It certainly pissed the guy off. In fact, he dropped his cell phone so he could return the finger and still maintain control of his car.
Unfortunately, the closest thing we have is the hand signal that says, “FUCK YOU!”
There’s kind of a huge leap in tone there. It certainly pissed the guy off. In fact, he dropped his cell phone so he could return the finger and still maintain control of his car.
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