Wednesday, February 23, 2011

The Future is Friendly. But It's Always a Day Away.

My cell phone and I are having relationship problems. I guess they started when I signed a contract stipulating that for three years it could treat me as though we were roommates in prison and I was the bitch. Ergo, I now pay through the nose for the privilege of being boned in the ass. The worst part about how we hooked up is the fact that our relationship is based on a lie. A lie told to me by the filthy sow who sold me the contract -- a malignant dungbeetle of a woman who told me that if I signed up for three years, something I would never have done under any ordinary circumstances, my phone would be covered with a full replacement warranty. Extraordinary. Full replacement warranty, the rancid fartsniffer told me. She then went on to explain to me that full replacement warranty meant if anything happened to my phone, they would replace it with no questions asked.


“No questions asked”.

These were the exact words the leprous hoseclamp used. Stunned beyond belief by the immensity of my good fortune, I took up the unwashed virago's pen and signed my name to the unholy arrangement.

Three years. That's a mighty long sentence for the crime of being a sap.

It wasn't long before I discovered the awful truth. My cell phone was an evil whore. It cost 80 dollars just to hold it. If I wanted it to do anything, the price increased sharply. If I took it out of town, it cost a fortune. It seemed like every time I touched it, it cost me more money, and created feelings of anxiety. It made me feel like Holden Caulfield with his prostitute – even if we didn't do anything, she was going to take my money anyway.

If I had gone the entire three years without ever using it, I still would have paid in the neighborhood of $3000.00 just for the potential to make a phone call.

The acme of the whole horrendous debacle is that ultimately it is my own fault. I believed what the salesperson told me, which history has shown us is the mark of a fool. "Buyer beware", they say, for some reason I've never fully understood. There was a time when it was quite the other way around. If you sold me something and it was bunk, I could hunt you down and make you pay. But now that we've become a nation of bedwetters and crybabies, you have to 'beware' of the lying piece of shit that's going to do and say anything to get you to pay them ten thousand times the actual value of whatever piece of garbage they're selling.

What the fuck went wrong with people that they will pay so much money for absolutely nothing? And while we're on the topic of what the fuck is wrong with people, where did the idea of 'needing' a cell phone come from, anyway? The world got along quite easily without the fucking things. If you ask me, it was a better place without them. Now you have absolutely no excuse not to be available to whomever wants to bend your ear with their unwelcome blathering or assail you with their 'texting'. And fuck me, there's another technological 'advance' I could do without. Really? You're going to type out a message and send it for me to read on a phone? Good thinking. Maybe you should push your car to work while you're at it, dumbass.

Where was I? Let's see . . . the vile bimbo who perjured her way into my wallet, money for nothing, nothing for money, a society full of pantywaists willing to do anything they're told . . . oh yeah. When something did happen to my phone, I took it in to be replaced and was met with incredulity and pity. “I'm sorry, we don't have any such warranty. I don't know where you would have gotten that idea.” I replied that I got it from the tainted slut who sold me a contract with a line of bullshit. Buddy at the desk generously offered me his theory on what had happened:

He figured since there was such a high rate of employee turnover in the shithole corporation he worked for that the person who sold me the contract probably blatantly lied to me in order to make the sale knowing full well that I would be boned, as by the time I found out what a cunt she had been she would have long since moved on to her new career blowing sailors down at the dock or working the donkey show in a back alley bar down in Tijuana.

I had to agree.

I was offered a limp apology and not much else. Pathetically, after several years of interacting with this house of fuckheads, I was willing to accept it. I just didn't have the energy to deal with any more of their crap. And that basically appears to be their mission statement: To just fuck with people so much, so often, and so unbelievably hard that eventually they just cave in and do whatever it is you ask of them due to sheer exhaustion and disbelief. Bravo, (your cell phone provider here), bravo. Check and mate, you cocksuckers.


  1. I was just wondering if you were happy with your cell phone contract...?

  2. it's still better than what they do to you at the airport.

  3. This is my favorite post. Nice work with the expletives Dwayne. Bravo cocksucker.

  4. I've heard this before, I think. In my house. Every day.

  5. Is that really you Dwayne? The cell phone thing actually made me think of you,and how you always complained about phones and would never answer my calls.

  6. Wow, a full replacement warrantee! Where do I sign?

  7. @ anonymous: it's me. i hate 'em.
    @ anonymous: just sign in blood on the devil's ass.


Drop me a line. Let me know how awesome or shitty you think I am. I can take it.