Undisclosed Bullshit

I love traveling… I just need to mention that, before I went off in this tirade aimed at Airlines (Delta in the specific), people (the fuckers in general), and the wondrous thing that is…. Air Travel.

Look, there’s nothing wrong with Airlines in general… they’re just trying to get paid like the rest of us. I mean, who could fault multinational corporations for trying to skim a little off the bottom line… by such well known business decisions as; Fuck the customer in the ass, Make them pay out the ass then laugh when they want services in exchange for their money, and Try our damnedest make every passenger feel like either blowing up and getting arrested or bottling their anger and losing a little more of their soul with every fight. Right? Am I right?

So, let’s break down my latest furrow into the never ending nightmare of International Air Travel… shall we?

The first thing that should be noted, is that I opted for a 15hr flight… The only people flying straight through from Dubai to the US are either Delta or Emirates. The Delta flight is hard to get, but the Emirates flight is nigh on impossible. So, I got the Delta flight… that’s like having a snap choice between being slapped or anally penetrated with a small rhinoceros… and I shrugged of the rhino like it wasn’t a big deal. “Well, at least I’ll be getting there at like 0900 local time. That’s cool, right? So what, they only gave me two hours to catch my connection in Atlanta.”

Then the rhino starts knocking at my back door, when I end up getting a center seat on a non-emergency-exit row. I know some of the people who read this… well… all of the people that read this have either seen me in photos or in the flesh, so stating that I am a big son-of-a-bitch is probably redundant… but I’m a big son-of-a-bitch! I’m 6′4″ tall and currently weigh between 320 and 330 pounds (leaning heavily toward the 330). Even if I was as thin as your average concentration-camp-survivor, there is no damned way that I fit in a Delta seat without either turning to the side or chopping off my legs. If you took the femur out of my leg, shaved a couple of inches off and replaced it without my gluts or thigh muscles, then maybe I’d be able to use those damned seats. Hell, then I might be able to use the seat back trays, too!

Needless to say (but I’m still gonna say it!) the decision to go with 15/16 hours stuffed into what Vietnam Vets might confuse with a “sweat box” may not have been a great idea. “Ladies and Gentleman, this flight is fully booked… but there are a couple of seats left due to apparent missing of flight. Anyone who wishes to move to an empty seat is welcome to…” And the fat fucker next to me is too fat to beat the rush… so we’re stuck together. That’s right… I’m calling another guy fat… imagine how big he was… “Ma’am can I get the seat belt extender?” kinda fat. That’s when I first realized that this may be the worst flight ever. That… and the fat that I could feel the bruises forming on my knees before we even began taxiing for take-off.

When we finally make it into the air, the pilot tells us our flight is running about thirty minutes late. I do the math and think to myself, “Well, that would still leave me with an hour and a half to clear customs and make my connection. I’ll go ahead and watch a movie…. hmm.” Looking up I see a system load screen for a Linux box… little penguin in the corner and everything. “Well, I guess they are restarting the system. I’ve heard good things about this Linux and its superb stability.” If I was the kind of guy that believed in Karma or Jinxing I’d have had to stab myself in the nuts thirty minutes later when ‘Hot Rod’ (no, it’s not a porn… imagine my surprise) hangs and I have to close out to get back to the menu (along with several others). “Well, maybe some TV. Uh, guess not… games? Nope those are crashing to the menu as well. Music! Aaaaw… seems someone forgot to put together a contemporary set of band and the only thin I would listen to is The Shins. Good thing none of that shit plays either…

Well, I did bring my PSP… but I seemed to have forgotten to load any new music to it. I had games, and played”The Warriors” to one of my seat-mate’s surprise and apparent disgust. I mean… so I was beating the fuck out of dudes in top hats with a baseball bat. Ok… maybe holding it up above the seat in front of me wasn’t the best coarse of action, but I couldn’t bend my arms! The fat dude to my right was leaned forward and wheezing like he was nearing the end of a marathon and the guy to my left (Mr. Disgusted Jamaican) was trying to read the fucking Duty Free magazine. I played a few levels and got bored… thought about getting up and changing out games… then I remember Wheezy McDoublebelt was passed out (and possibly suffocating on his third chin) making my thoughts of reaching the aisle seem an epic adventure or quest across Jello Mountain… besides… The stank-ass breath of the Jamaican had me lightheaded.

Around five hours into the flight I was sleeping in and out of consciousness when the Alpha Hag asked me if I wanted Chicken or Pasta. I recalled that the last time I’d flown Delta, the pasta was akin to curried rectal drippings… so I opted for the “chicken”.

Wait… let me step back and drop some wisdom on you people. Fuck Delta and their “Flight Attendant Unions” or whatever. The way I understand it, the “Flight Attendants” get to bid on preferred jobs/flights. Their seniority gives them a leg up so that the better paying jobs go to people with more seniority or some such. I’m not sure how this shit all plays out… I imagine there is some poor group of suckers reading through fucking bids and making their decisions with no inclination of how fucked up they are. See… when you jump a flight, you expect to see a cute chic (or dude… though he’d be gay, so chics get the shaft on that one… or don’t) smiling at you as she offers you booze and a sammich while you try your damnedest to catch a few winks and not spend your week’s money allotment on five dollar beers. Instead, you jump a fifteen hour flight on the walking corpse riddle carcass of a once proud “Airship”.

We had three women and three men attending our flight… now, all three dudes were smoking sausage (thanks to my Bosnian friends for that analogy) so they were off limits to the poor soccer moms and destitute fems on the way to their normal lives… never to be sexed in a flying port-a-john by a manly Flight Attendant. And the women… well… one looked like that crazy bitch at every salon in the fucking world that thinks if she keeps teasing and pouring “product” into her color treated tangle heap of a hair-do, nobody will notice that she has female baldness that looks like my ass crack with mange. The second Stewardess was that kind of catty freak that thinks (although I’d rather hit my dick with a frozen porcupine) every guy on the plane is trying to talk his way into her dusty cavernous snatch of barren despair. The Third was what most people would look at and say, “Wow… since when do they let manatee work as fight attendants?”… I mean… I thought they had a fucking weight limit or these bitches! They make me weigh my god damned backpack!

Back to the Chicken… It was greasy… I mean like they trimmed the meat off of the fat, kind of greasy. There were some vegetables in there, too… but I couldn’t get past the boiled chicken fat flavor of the dish to try more than a couple of bites. I guess it’s a good thing they gave me a salad (three cucumber slices with a lettuce and carrot sliver garnish), a banana (thing was huge and green… I kept thinking, ‘Black guys ain’t got shit on Martians!’), and a Kit-Kat… how the fuck do you make a prepackaged candy bar taste bad? Can anyone explain that shit?

Six or seven hours in, I got up to walk around and the only place to walk was in the rear “galley” area… so ofcourse I hit the Manatee up for a cup of Joe. “Sir, I have to poor that for you! Give me your cup!” I oblige and proceed to step back, “Do you want cream and sugar?”

“Uh… Equal and two creams, please.” I am nothing if not a gentleman, “There’s no need to go through all the… oh.”

That’s right… she poured the coffee, walked over and sat it on the opposite counter and set it near the cream and sugar… What the fuck? Why did she even pour it? I thought it was a liability thing around the whole not getting my crotch burnt or something. I was stumped, but figured, “What the hell, I was going to do it anyway.”… I mixed and drank the coffee under the glare of Catty Skurvycrotch’s displaced judgmental man hate. Finding that the company at the galley was not to my liking, I stumbled back to my seat on cramped legs and rigid ankles.

Once back at my seat the Balding Crankcase decides it’s a good time to offer up a “snack”… has anyone ever had a cucumber and boiled egg sandwich? Yeah… me either… and I won’t be volunteering for that shit again. Everyone within speaking distance was mumbling about how Delta was out to drive us insane with their total lack of taste in the cuisine they offered. I was in agreement… lucky they also had some unsalted crackers and Camembert cheese… ok, not so luckily. I don’t like Camembert… it’s like the only cheese I’ve ever tasted and instantly remembered that Cheese is the biological leavings of bacterial and fungal digestive actions. I’m not sure if you are supposed to eat that white rind, but I am damned sure that I’d kill a motherfucker if he tried to make me eat it.

Time was flying by… OK… it wasn’t. Time was dragging along like a gimp with lead shoes and only one bendable knee… which is, admittedly, exactly how I felt as I got up to take a leak. I must have been bored, cause I took along the toothbrush and toothpaste that they left for me in the little recycled barf bag in the seat pocket. When I got to the Lavatory, I noticed that there was fresh coffee, so I figured, “What the hell, one cup before I defunk my mouth.”

I found the cups and a responsible adult in the form of Craggy Patenstien to acquire my dark elixir… “Ma’am, could I trouble you for a cup of coffee?” I hand her my cup and step back.

“Sire, the Cap’n has the seatbelt light on, so you shouldn’t be up.” Says the freaky Scalp Menace as she take my cup and stands, “Where are you seated… I’ll bring it to you.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, I don’t need it that bad. Never mind…” I turn to walk away to the restroom.

“Well, I’m up now.. where are you seated?” She’s got that look… of someone downtrodden by ‘The Man’ in her pursuit of the American Dream.

“No, ma’am, I meant… I’m going to the restroom to brush my teeth… I don’t need the coffee at my seat when I get back.”

She sighs like a stomped billows and tosses the cup in the trash. “Well… the Seatbelt lightsongrumble mumble…..”

I was seriously considering shanking that bitch with my toothbrush… but it was the only one I had handy.

I’m going to cut this off at this point, and make Part Two… likely with another name… this one is getting too long.

Apparently, the good people over at Thinkgeek.com have found Tea picked by Monkeys from China or something. The sales pitch is pretty much just; “Holy shit, they trained monkeys to pick tea leaves and you can buy it!”… yeah… monkeys… the same little beasts that stick their fingers into their (and other) little monkey sphincters and then fling poo at you when they are upset.

I noticed the monkey picked tea deal a while back (because I receive the prestigious ThinkGeek spam email) and mentioned it to a colleague (Karma the Black Ops Hippie) that I thought might find it amusing. He then went on to write a nice little take on their “humorous” sales pitch. I then jacked up his writing and edited it for readability (adding a couple of humorous lines myself).

Touched by a Monkey

The wind blows the blossoms in the garden.

Otherwise known as monkey flatulence…

The monk breathes in. The air is crisp; the world is good.

”Shooooooooooooooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!! Makes me wanna kungfu sumpn!

The only thing missing is some tea.

So… the world is only good, not great.

Alas, the tea tree branches are too high and the mountain face is too steep. He stops in thought. His monkey, however, knowing his master wants tea, climbs the mountain face, picks the leaves, and brings them to the monk. And the tea was so delicious, other people began training their monkeys to pick it.

And so the legend goes… a device commonly used when you want to get away with pure, transparent fabrication.

After searching across four continents, we found this unbelievable tea.

Wait… which four continents were searched? Where the hell did they find the legend that set them on the “Mystical Monkey Tea Trail” in the first place? This is starting to sound like a big fat tax-write-off (aka. LIES) to me.

The lovely folks who package the tea for us say:

What do you need “lovely folks” for, when you have well trained monkey slaves?

“Nowadays the practice of monkeys picking tea has all but died out,”

More like: “Nowadays the destitute 14-yr-old slave girls have matured enough to escape confinement.”

“except in one small remote village where…”

“…they chain the gimpy kids in wheel chairs to the production equipment”
meaning: “you can’t find this remote village on your own to verify our fable so don’t even try to come ‘rescue’ our ‘monkeys’, bitch!”

“where they still continue this remarkable tradition.”

Yes! The tradition of lying to people about monkeys.

“No monkeys are harmed or mistreated in order for us to bring this rare brew to you!”

Talk about riding the fence; “We don’t have to actually pay ‘monkeys’! We get to keep all your money for ourselves!” Wait.. they say, “to bring…” I think they are just glossing over the fact that the “training” does, in fact involve beating the tar out of the monkeys!

And boy are we glad we found it. The legendary flavor is something that can only be tasted to be believed.

Boy are we glad you can’t verify this bullshit! Buy it, whether you believe us or not.

Monkey Picked Tea is truly in a class by itself. Full of antioxidants,

… and monkey juice. Maybe that’s where all the antioxidants come from.

this tea will calm your soul, temper your spirit, and put you in divine touch with your monkey ancestors.

It’s laced with something that will sear your conscience to the point that you’ll even believe in Evolution, though we reference the Divine, while we poke fun at your “ancestors”.

Each package is 57g (about 2oz) of the finest loose tea you’ll ever taste. Each bag makes approx. 28 servings of tea.

Each package is 57g (about 20% monkey feces) of the cheapest tea we could find. Each bag makes approximately “Ass loads of CASH”!

Thank you, ThinkGeek.com… for your amusing attempt at selling me your dirty slave picked monkey feces laden tea.

I also wanted to point out some weird shit on this package.

<– Note in the bottom right, they have to tell you flat out, “edible”… that just doesn’t instill the type of trust I put in a box of Lipton Tea Bags.

Then there are those four boxes in the bottom left.

“Sorry! Game Piece”
“Oh Shit, COBRA!”
“WTF? Scorpion, Too!”
“Oh, and tea leaves.”

“Sorry, venomous stinging tea inside!” seems to be the best case scenario I can get from reading those pictograph boxes. If anything you can come up with, anything that sounds appetizing from that package… well… apparently Monkey Picked Tea is for you!

There’s a game coming out for the Wii (just typing that makes me feel dirty) called No More Heroes. The game looks pretty cool with it’s “Plasma Katana” and and motion sensitive fighting controls. It even has some hand to hand moves. I’d even go so far as to say that the assassin ladder climbing story looks to have some promise. Sound pretty cool!

Then…. then I watched the No More Heroes Trailer and realized that the peoples at Ubisoft (how the hell do you pronounce Ubisoft?) have been infected by the zany asexual antics from Japan. Seriously… go watch the trailer! About two thirds of the way through, you’ll see the main character “charging” his “plasma katana” by vigorously shaking it up and down between his legs! I nearly shot coffee out of my nose when I saw that! If you’ve watched the trailer, you’ll note the “energy growth” bar on the right and a nice little sound effect. Now every time I am stroking off a load I’ll be hearing that damned noise in my head… looks like my sex life is ruined!

I was actually considering the purchase of a Wii… but if all I am getting is a virtual masturbation machine, I’m thinking it may be a little redundant. I mean, what the hell do you need that for? If you’re going to spank the hell out of something you may as well be spanking the actual instead of the virtual… at least you’ll be done in a couple of minutes and take a nice nap.

Oh! And what the hell?!

Since I’m pissing on Ubisoft, I might as well point out that they are also the people that brought us the Beowulf: The Movie; The Game on PSP. See, I made the mistake of buying this filthy piece rejected garbage without reading any reviews on it. Or… I should say, I didn’t actively go out and look for TRUSTED reviews. I did see something that put forth the idea that Beowulf PSP = Kinda God of War! The same preview pointed out the button match scheme for special moves and boss fights of God of War was reflected in Beowulf. It went on to say wonderful things about squad commands and cooperative AI team mates. Then I saw the game (it was the only one on the PSP shelf) and decided, what the hell… Beowulf +God of War +squad based combat just has to be cool.

There are so many ways I was wrong that I can’t even comprehend a way to make this game worse without having the person selling it to you kick you square in the balls, set your head on fire and urinate on your smoldering scalp while taking your money. This has got to be one of the most frustrating games I’ve played since ET on the fucking Atari… and yeah, I played that bitch.

Let me give you a time line of the life of this game in my PSP:

Day #1:

0830: I’m walking through the video game aisle at my local retailer and notice Beowulf The Movie The Game of PSP on the rack. “Hm… this is that game that is like God of War with squad based combat.” I look around and see there are no other new PSP titles… or any other PSP titles at all. “Alright, into the basket with you, Beowulf.”

0900: I arrive back at my place of hiding/residence and slap Beowulf into my PSP.

‘Loading’ “Hmm.. that loading icon looks frozen.. no wait, I think it just moved. Oh… wait… ok, there it goes.”

‘Press Start’ “Ok, new game… name the save file… ok, here we go.”

‘Loading’….. ‘Loading’ “Pfft… must be a freaking FMV.”

‘Loading’ “What the fuck? Ah, here we go…”

‘FMV with soggy sounding voice’ “Good thing there’s sub titles on this.”

‘FMV Done, Loading’ “Oh come the fuck on…”

‘Loading’ “This is starting to look like a theme.”

‘The obligatory Tutorial Level Starts’ “So… what the hell am I supposed to be doing?”

‘Run around in circles and eventually meet up with a guy I am apparently racing… after he has reached an end point’ “Well, shit.. I’ll restart the level”

‘This time run ahead of guy and realize that it’s not really a race’ “Son of a… ok, I guess I have to fight off the crabs or something… what? Oh…. I can pick up a stick!”

‘Hit crabs with stick’ “Why can’t I hit this dude that I am supposed to be competing with? Why is my stick breaking? What the hell is wrong with this game’s targeting… there is no targeting!”

‘Make it to the end of the pretend race and start another FMV… LOADING’ “I really shouldn’t grind my teeth… my little Thai dentist lady would not approve.”

‘LOADING’ “I wonder what I’ll do on my next R&R”

‘Kill Sea Serpent… things’ “Uh… fuck, how do I hit them? I just walk up and swing at the… fuck, he knocked me on my ass. I’ll just hit block next time he… FUCK! Block doesn’t work… so just wale on this giant snake and… Ok, he’s down.”

‘HIT X’ “Shit, hitting X, and this is supposed to be what they think God of War was like?”

‘Continue waling on snake thing’ “There… he’s dead! What? Three more? Are you fucking kidding me?”

‘Snip ten minutes of cursing while I learn the finer points of falling on my ass repeatedly’ “Next level please! Jesus…. Hey, there’s the guys and we’re going to learn the squad combat system!”

‘Your choices are tell them to attack, stand there or move shit’ “Huh… maybe they only need prompting to… ”

‘Squad>Attack’ “Still no targeting… and they only seem to attack people whenever they get hit… or feel like it.”

‘Squad>Move Boulder’ “I have to select each one and tell him to do something… I want them all moving the boulder and I have to tell them one at a time… this is retarded.”

‘All your guys are now moving boulder, rape team alpha is now here to beat you while your men watch’ “Guys! FUCK! I’m getting my ass beat… and my sword just broke… and my shield… and I’m dead…. But look! They’re almost done moving that boulder!”

‘Restart level’ “Ok, let’s try this again… You and you start moving that boulder… I’ll stand way over here and watch. Let’s try not to trigger the rape crew.”

‘Boulder moved’ “Ok, let’s…. hmm… this map is useless… Ok, I guess we follow the trail.”

‘You can charge Berserker and release to kill shit without taking damage!’ “Better charge that up… now here come some more rape artists”

‘Break Box - Found new weapon’ “Cool, an axe! Huh… combos are still ass… at least I do more damage.”

’swing like a tard at random because you aren’t allowed to target anything in particular’ “What the hell, man… how is this man strong enough to break a sword in ten minutes but can’t kill a man without waling about his head for five minutes?”

‘made it to some semi boss battle… I think’ “Berserker mode is GO! HAHAHA! Wait… FUCK! I’m killing my own squad?! How the hell does that help? Shit… and I’m dead again.”

‘RIP GAME FROM PSP AND TOSS TOWARD TRASH’ “Fuck this, I am going to bed.”

Day #2:

0745: ‘Enter room’ “Hmm… Beowulf missed the trash. I guess I may have just been in a mood or something, this thing can’t be that bad.”

‘Beowulf returned to PSP’ “I’ll give it one more try.”

‘Loading’ “Oh yeah… I remember this shit.”

‘Reload level that made you toss the game?’ “Ugh… my sphincter is already contracting”

‘Loading’ ” Oh yeah… little retards don’t actually follow orders… and there goes my shield.”

‘Hey, here come a bunch of guys to surround you’ “HOLY SHIT! BLOCK DOESN’T WORK!”

‘SQUAD > ATTACK!!’ “They’re just standing there… no wait, they are ganged up on a guy. And… they aren’t actually hitting him?”

‘HAHA You been punked bitch!’ “I Can’t get out of this circle of enemies and my crew is over there having a conversation with an enemy… this is… Why can’t I block?”

‘You’re dead!’ “Oh fuck this! FUCK THIS!”

‘Rip game from PSP, Grab Camera set to Video Mode’ “I’ve got a review for you, Beowulf!”

‘Begin filming as I crumple the PSP disk in my fist’ “HAHAHAH! FUCK YOU!”

‘Microwave the UMD Disc that was inside’ “There… I need a smoke.”

That is a true account of Beowulf The Movie The Game for PSP’s life span in my hands… it seriously sucked.. I didn’t even point out the fact that the FMV was choppy and usually cut out before the last line of dialog was complete… or the fact that the Story portrayed in the FMV didn’t even match the actual things you were doing in the game play half the time.

Alright, then… So I have spent far too much time adjusting the “Easy to customize” WordPress default theme. Seems there is a little image builder script that is called to produce that blue box at the top that has that wonderful gradient… also seems that simply changing the image path in the Header.php or Style.css don’t actually change the image. Luckily, I managed to stumble across the proper order of random button clicks and screen shouting to cause it to change.

I found that if I screamed things like “I will stab you in your face!” and “Your mother was a Livejournal!” at the screen while clicking back and forth through the “Header Image and Color” options, I got the desired effect. I wish women worked like that…

For the rest of this post I will point out little things that have been updated. Over on your right, you will notice spicy new buttons for links to other stuffs… like the old AIComic and RMBBS. These were also an exercise in the ‘what the hell was I doing?’ format of creation. I seem to have made a few buttons using a template that I created (looks like this - ) and managed to close and NOT SAVE the template… nope… didn’t save once during the whole time I was working on it.

I’m also still playing with my widget layout… I think I’ll bring the pretty buttons (that I will now have to remake) to the top and get rid of the calendar.

So, I used Cheap Tickets to acquire a travel package based on their proposed pricing… cheap. I set the flight and hotel up before setting up the rest of my R&R and thought nothing of it until I realize that I needed more time before my trip. What was I to do?!! “I know!” I said to myself in a perfect British accent (I always talk that way in my head), “I’ll go back to Cheap Tickets, for they are sure to have a Change and/or Cancellation ability attached to my package deal!”

Quickly, I clenched my mouse and began performing the sweeping movements and clicking procedures needed to find a link from the email they sent me. I found what I needed in the form of a link from my Confirmation Email… it took me to a page that proudly proclaimed (in text… no fanfare) that “Most flights and hotels reservations can be changed online at Cheap Tickets!”… ‘GASP!’ My dreams are reality! Once more to the mouse!

A few clicks, sweeps and password attempts later, I was looking at a new web page that read, “You can’t do this, bitch! HAHA! You purchased a package deal! Henceforth you will be our torture kitten and you must call this phone number!”

I wept… mainly I wept at the foul language and imagery that Cheap Tickets used on me. I then proceeded with my phone call of doom.

“Thank you for calling Cheap Tickets. If you would like to make a new reservation, say New. If you would like to inquire about an existing reservation, say Existing.”

uh…. ‘Existing’

“Please say your name.”

‘Everett Abbott’

“Pfft.. Hah, tricked you! No really, just type in your phone number.”

fucking son of a… ‘beepBEEPbeEpBEeepBeePBeePBEEPbEEpBeEpbEeP’

“You have one reservation for FEBRUARY 4th to SAN FRANSISCO CALIFORNIA. Would you like to talk about this reservation?”

‘Yes’

“Would you like for me to read your itinerary for FEBRU..”

‘NO’

….. it went on until I got to an actual person. Now, I say that with a grin because we all know the things talking on the other end of that line aren’t real people. They are fucking demons… demons with funny voices that sound like they are speaking with an affected American accent through a sweaty ball sack.

The nice demon on the other end of the line confirmed some more info and promptly put me on hold for five minutes. Then the demon comes back on the line and asks what I want.

“Yes, I need to push the departure for my trip back to the 7th from the 4th of February.” I say to the whirling verbal dervish of affected ‘Mer’can accent and ball sack.

She (the DEMON) asks me a few more questions like, “Would you like to change your hotel reservation as well?” and “You know we’re going to take this chance to ass rape you with fees?” and “Do you like it when I ram my spike covered she-cock of repeated stupidity down your throat?” and then put me on hold for ten more minutes…

I was starting to doze… then “Uh.. Sorry, Sire, but it’s not taking the change. I’m going to put you on hold!” I blanched and babble, “B b b but wait I just… shit… there’s that classical music again.” I was gaining a hatred for Mozart when played by midget grasshoppers in a tin can.

“Uh, sir? Are you still there?” The demon asks with mock sympathy.

I have lost all sense of time by this point and reply, “Huhwhahuh, what? Yeah YEAH! I’m still here.”

The Demon sighs… “Sir, the system is down or something and… uh, call back in two hours or something. You know, since this is all jacked up, how about I give you a 25$ travel voucher!” I could almost here the prize wagon….

“Ma’am, would I be able to use this travel voucher on this trip?” I know the answer, but want to hear her say it.

“No, sir, not on this trip.”

I’m getting belligerent, “You don’t actually think I’ll be using Cheap Tickets again, so that 25$ is safe… right?”

“What?” She’s pretending like they don’t think this shit through, “Sir, when you call back in two…”

“I can’t call back in two hours!” I say through clenched teeth.

“How about tomorrow?” She’s laughing at me!

“….. yes…. I’ll call… tomorrow.” And that’s when my head exploded… I spent the rest of my day cleaning up.

NOTE: Today is the Tomorrow spoken of. I wrote this story while on hold with a new demon. Today the demon gave me a better refund after fees than the demon from yesterday. Yesterday’s demon quoted me 47$ refund payable to my credit card (before telling me to fuck off) while today’s demon quoted 120$… I think I may have gotten a demon from a higher level of hell, today.

So, the A.I. is toast and I was sick of dealing with the freaking spam from the wonderfull PHPBB MessageBoard that I had installed… then I got to thinking… ok, that ‘thinking’ thing may be a lie. I was just wandering around the net looking at the plethora of “blogs” and realized that I had an open site with nothing actually on it. I also realized that due to my lack of friends and readers would keep any traffic I had to a minimum, so the low bandwidth allowance and available space wouldn’t be a hindrance.

I should mention that, although I am paying for my space (yeah, not the brightest bulb in the fixture) , I receive less throughput and storage space than a lot of free services. This thing may take off once I figure out what it is I am actually doing… until then it’s fine that I am ham-strung on the net like a retard wearing concrete shoes to the Special Olympics.