Fuck Bell!

“Sound the horns; cue the angel choruses!”

I have finally managed to break free from nearly two decades of indentured servitude to the great, ugly Bell beast. Things already seem…brighter, more cheerful. The very air seems sweeter. Probably because this is the first time in 18 years I haven’t lived life without my nose firmly embedded up Kevin Crull’s ass.

Fuck you Bell, you life-sucking, soulless bastards!

Now that I’ve managed to sever the Bell umbilical cord the company is literally bombarding me with monthly discount specials and invitations for special reconnection deals. I’m sure I’ll get the same rear end shafting from my new telephone provider but at least it won’t be Bell that’s doing the shafting. Bell Telephone has used me like a cell block bitch for the most part. Over the years they’ve managed to squeeze not only the life, but every extra cent I’ve ever managed to scrape together. And now that they’ve posted extra security guards around the wishing pond at the public mall, those cents aren’t totaling up like they used to. Soon, I was going to have to resort to sucking dick just to keep up with my monthly bill.

And fuck those talking beavers, Frank and Gordon too!

I HATE talking animal mascots. How creepy is that?

So while we’re at it, fuck the GEICO Gecko, the Taco Bell Chihuahua, The Budweiser frogs, Tony the Tiger, Tucan Sam, Roy and Karl from Blockbuster, the Trix rabbit, and the AFLAC duck for that matter too! Fuck ‘em all!

So the chances of Kevin Crull, President of Residential Services, winning back my business by sending me heartfelt ‘Have You Seen Terry?’ cards in the mail with those two god-forsaken, flat-tailed, dim-witted water rats are slim to fucking none!

I’ve only just left Bell and they’ve already latched onto me like an orphaned chimp. Only NOW do they value my business now that I’ve left? Well it's too late, you tyrannical cocksuckers! So let’s get one thing straight, dipshits, I’d rather get my telephone service from a hammer-wielding psychopath than ever reenlist my telephone service with Bell again.

So call off the beavers already, assholes.

This disgruntled patron has left the building.

Spring Weening

Once again, I was coerced into participating in a serious bout of spring-cleaning. Only this time it was initiated my new girlfriend.

I’m not exactly sure how it all came into being exactly. I usually loathe these types of cleansing activities - with or without the girlfriend. But one minute I was showing her my new dress shirts in my closet and the next thing I know we’re sorting and throwing shit out.

Funny how that works, eh? Boy meets girl; boy shows girl something from his closet; girl assumes control and begins throwing shit out. It’s the same ‘ol classic story wherever you go I’m sure.

But this particular purging felt different somehow. It almost felt…nice.

Therapeutic actually.

Among the spoils found in the remotest nether regions of my closet this year were bags of gaudy Christmas ornaments, miles of random electrical and computer wiring, half a dozen stained pillows, one broken laser jet printer, a dozen or so unused winter coats and jackets, about a zillion broken computer mouse’s*, and more tacky out-dated beach shirts than you could shake a boogie-board at. Honestly, I alone could probably clothe an entire sellout crowd at any Jimmy Buffet concert.

After I donate all these fashionable threads to the local thrift shop there is going to be some very hip, colorful homeless people walking around downtown let me tell you. It'll be just like Key West under the city bridge alright!

Of course there was a whole host of other ripped, faded, stained and wrinkled articles of clothing that were not even fit for donation. Personally, I’m more inclined to just light them all up in a huge polyester bonfire in the backyard but I’m sure the Fire Department would have something to say about it. I’m sure that burning ugly shirts without a permit is still a chargeable offense.

I guess part of what made this year’s spring-clean almost tolerable was the fact that I had that added assistance from my girlfriend. Suddenly I have that added motivation I needed that I was not normally accustomed to receiving.

I’m a man; I procrastinate – what can I tell you?

But let me tell you, after you witness your girlfriend wrinkle her nose in disgust after having seen the pit stains on your old bartenders uniform that’s been hanging in the back of your closet for the last 10 years, but for some reason you still haven’t been able to part with, well, suddenly you’re more inclined to pitch it like a used car salesman.

Of course, all the laughing, pointing and mocking sure helps too.

I simply needed her to help me cut the umbilical cord on some of these, well, lets just say “bolder” fashion choices. It's motivation at it's most basic. A blind person could have told me that these clothes were ugly, but it took a real loved one to hold my hand while they stuffed it all in garbage bags.

* How many fucking mouses have I gone through? Seriously, it was like where computer mouses go to die.

Winter Blunderland

There is about 5 feet of snow on the ground this morning. Oh joy.

Somebody just tell Mother Nature that she can go blow herself.

Between all the shoveling I’ve done this weekend (not to mention the bouts of freaky monkey sex), I feel like I would have had I spent the weekend at the gym.

I haven’t seen this much snow in, easily, 15 years. The drifts are literally up to the middle of my living room windows giving the room a total igloo feel to it. Just what I was looking forward to with only two weeks left till spring. What a cruel mistress Mother Nature can be.

This also happens to be the same weekend kicking off March Break for all public school kids. I can foresee then a lot of very pissed off parents who are coming to terms with the fact that their children will be growing roots in front of the television playing video games for hours of end all week.

If I were a parent, I’d force a shovel in their hands and tell them not to come home until they've paid off their first years University tuition.

Now, maybe, I can understand why schools may be closed or why buses may choose to cease running. It still wouldn’t have happened back in my day but I guess I can let it slide this time like the back tires of my Chevrolet Cavalier.

The best part is that THERE’S NO SCHOOL TOMORROW ANYWAY!

Take THAT you spoiled-rotten, snot-nosed pansy asses. Sucks to be you…finally! I have been redeemed. That’s like rain on a Saturday afternoon if you ask me.

And my inner asshole is reveling in every moment of it.