batfakforever's Xanga

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 18:26:19 GMT

On my way to class today, I received a text message from a friend of mine asking to borrow some of my unique skills. You see, her boss is a flaming douchebag, and she felt that he was past due for a verbal ass-stomping.

I was happy to oblige, and adopted the persona of a well-to-do Belgian jackass, and proceeded to troll the living shit out of him.

Me: Excuse me, I am from Belgium, and my English it is not so perfect.

Furniture Lady: That's alright, what did you need?

Me: I am in ze requiring of a very specific chair, ze Ashley Signature San Marco recliner, and I am needing three of zem today.

Furnture Lady: I'm sorry sir, but we've sold out of them.

Me: Zis is unacceptable. Send to me your boss, your your, how is it... manager.

Furniture Lady: *sigh* okay, wait here.

~ Lengthy Pause ~

Manager: Can I help you?

Me: Oh how nice of you to not hurry, eet is not like I have anything else to do today.

Manager: Um. Is there-

Me: Your pathetic brothel of a store has lied to me. I am seeking zis chair, and your wesite says zat you are having eet, but ven I get here, not only do you not have eet, but zere ees no no, eh, how is zis word?

Manager: Display.

Me: DEES PLAY model. Zis terrible store eez my, how is eet... contingency plan. I have been to ze Sears and ze, ze, Orland and no one has zis Goddamned chair!

Manager: Now calm down, I'm sure we can find-

Me: Oh I am not finished with you, you impossible man! I would buy zis display model, pay you extra, zis store is very dirty I figure you would do zis sort of thing-

Manager: Excuse me?

Me: -but apparently zis is beyond your fucking mental capacity.

Manager: There's no need for profanity.

Me: I will profane to you as much as I wish, you twig-like little homo!

Manager: Look, you want the chair!?

Me: Peh. Maybe.

Manager: I can get it to you from Markham-

Me: Yeeugch! Zen on my way I suppose I shall pick up a bottle of Colt 45 and get shot in ze face. I do not know why I expected proper service in zis awful country.

Manager: I can get the three of them right now, just-

Me: Nein! I have far to much money to be wasting my time in zis filthy excuse for a store! Keep your diseased chairs, good day sir!

Monday, October 12, 2009

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 19:38:14 GMT

Those German kids left tons of beer behind that I really, really don't want to drink.

My classes are... well, like they always are. They've lost their initial appeal, and I still get stuck drawing naked folks.

For whatever reason, I've lost my inclination to write up Xanga posts.

Maybe because it's grey and depressing outside.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 19:24:20 GMT

Curse those LEGO fuckers.

Canceled my thing. Now I get zero swag.

Its probably for the better; I went to the mall later in the day on unrelated business, and the joint was full of kids and old people.

I hate kids and old people.

Monday, September 07, 2009

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 03:45:23 GMT

I have returned from Colorado, the land of scruffy hobos, lack of oxygen, and perilous raft trips.

Although I did stay at some pretty sweet hotels along the way.

Highlights: I procured a fan-fucking-tastic piece of headgear, my mom fell into yet another body of water, I bought presents for a certain bunch of ingrates, and I didn't play any video games for a previously-unheard-of eight days.

Now I need to deal with my dumb classes for this semester, and get weady for some volunteer work at- are you ready for this- the grand opening of the LEGO store in Orland Park. They claim to be paying in gift certificates, food, and swag.

Bleuch. Fingers = crossed.

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Wed, 05 Aug 2009 20:25:50 GMT

Starting about 9:00 AM this morning, I got a series of calls from some asshole in a recording saying that I have some 'message' waiting for me. The recording sounded like the person they were looking for was named "Colleen," it was hard to tell because it went by really fast.

I've been getting these calls randomly for like a week, but they laid them on thick today. Thus, I became angry.

The following telephone conversations concerning the worst Debt Collection Agency the world has ever seen are true. Some names have been changed to protect the stupid.

Me: *Dials Number*

Bitch: Valentine and Kebartas.

Me: ...Hi. Who are you?

Bitch: Sigh. Hold on. *Puts me on hold*

Asshole: Valentine and Kebartas, this is Jim.

Me: Hi. Who are you, and why do you keep calling me?

Asshole: *Grumble* Give me your phone number and area code.

Me: Obviously you already have my number, otherwise I wouldn't be calling you asking why YOU are always calling ME.

Asshole: I don't have to deal with this. *Hangs up*

Me: Oh hell no you didn't. *Redials*

Bitch: Valentine and Kebartas.

Me: Hey. Who are you?

Bitch: *Grunts, puts me on hold*

Asshole #2: Sigh. Paul. I'm having a real bad day so why don't you make this quick.

Me: What the...? Dude, fucking grow a pair, I don't give a shit about how your day is going. I want to know why you pe-

Asshole #2: Fine you know what? Whatever, have a nice day. *Hangs up*

Me: ...Little bitch. *Re-redials*

Bitch: Valentine and Ke-

Me: HI THERE!!1! Who are you?

Bitch: *Puts me on hold*

Asshole #3: Valentine and Kebartas, this is Mike.

Me: Hi, who are you, and why do you keep calling me?

Asshole #3: Valentine and Kebartas. We're a collection agency, and you must have an account balance. Give me your phone number and I'll check.

Me: An account? You guys don't even know who I am.

Asshole #3: According to this, you have an account balance for that number under the name "Puddin Tame."

Me: ...Puddin Tame.

Asshole #3: Yes.

Me: Puddin Tame.

Asshole #3: Yes sir.

Me: So... I mean, are you like... retarded? Or do you seriously not realize that's a fake name?

Asshole #3: ...So that's not you.

Me: That's not anybody.

Asshole #3: I've taken your number off the list. Have a nice day.

~ fin ~

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 18:43:05 GMT

Well great, now I've got a Facebook. I guess I'll have to abandon Xanga and put a bullet in its head to finish it off.

lol, j/k

Also, summer classes are OVAR!!!1!

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 03:18:50 GMT

"Well... I guess you don't have to be Mexican to drink a margarita."

~ My Grandma

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 06:11:20 GMT

If, for whatever reason, I disappear without a trace with the only clues being signs of a struggle accompanying broken bottles and crushed nachos, plus the smell of mediocre Mexican food, then you may assume that the restaurant next door has had me eliminated.

You see, the Mexican restaurant next door is perplexingly popular, and their patrons find no qualms in ignoring the five "7-11 Customer Only" signs we have, and occupying our entire parking lot, even if that means my 7-11 customers have nowhere to park.

So I (politely) tell these illiterate douches to move their cars. Most just move them without a fuss, some throw temper tantrums because they have to walk 20-30 extra feet. Others try to argue their way out of it:

Dumb Guy: We're just getting carry-out!

Me: Okay. You still can't park there.

Dumb Guy: Listen, man! I've got a one-year-old son at home. We've got a car seat to prove it.

Me: That's... great... I guess you'd better go home and get him, and then park in Cilantro's parking lot when you come back.

I guess newborns really like tacos.

So then time continues to unravel forward; I ring up customers, tell a couple more people to move their shit, straighten shelves, that kind of stuff. When suddenly I hear a familiar enraged voice with a distinct lisp that impedes me from taking it seriously- it's the owner of Cilantro.

And he is upset.

Mr. Cilantro is a man who has twice previously run into my store and screamed at me- 'til his face was red, in front of customers- about how I am a horrific dragon of a man, using my forked tongue and fiery breath to purposely piss off all of his customers, who apparently have the divine right to park wherever the fuck they want.

Both times I enraged him further by being really polite, not really caring about what he said, not taking him seriously, and calling all of his bluffs.

So he throws open the door, and begins yelling (as in, ALL CAPS with lots of EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!) at Matt, my co-worker, the person who is not me, who never yells at anybody. Ever. What he does is far more sinister; he parks his car in one of Cilantro's parking spaces.

Mr. Cilantro is so angry that he stutters, and doesn't speak using full sentences. He expresses his indignation towards our treatment of his customers, to which Matt replies:

Okay, its not our fault your customers are all assholes who don't read signs.

I can assume that from Mr. Cilantro's point of view, this response was less than ideal. At this point, Mr. Cilantro demands that Matt remove his car from Cilantro's half of the parking lot. Matt's reply:

I'm sorry, where's the sign that says I can't park there? Because I don't see one.

This, also, was less than ideal. Mr. Cilantro's conclusion was that threats were the next logical step in his embarrassing parade of fucktardery. He informed Matt that should the car not be removed, he would have it towed away by big smelly men with greasy hands. His response was thus:

Go ahead. Do it. Do it. I dare you to do it.

Mr. Cilantro then withdrew from the scene... and did not do it.

He did, however, call the cops on us. An officer arrived maybe an hour later, informed us that doesn't give two shits about our stupid problems, and gave me (not Matt) a stern talking-to about how we all need to get along and stop waking him up in the middle of his afternoon nap.

I think we all learned a valuable lesson today.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Sat, 20 Jun 2009 21:54:12 GMT

There are two things.

First off, there is a subject which harbors a lot of confusion and facilitates misinformation which results in anti-good times for everybody. Foremost, everybody has my apologies regarding my treatment of this subject, and major apologies go out to a certain someone (you know who you are.) Now, lets put this to rest once and for all.

This is Blackjack:

This is Jack Black:

Secondly, for my painting class we are required to have a glass container of some kind to hold turpentine to clean oil paint off our brushes. I took one of my mom's nearly-empty spice jars, which held trace amounts of garlic powder, washed it out with soap and water, and filled it with turpentine.

A couple days later, I opened it up in class and it reeked like fucking garlic.

GARLIC WINS!

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Thu, 11 Jun 2009 11:33:49 GMT

Weeeeell

I'm Popeye the sailor man

(toot toot)

I live in a garbage can

(toot toot)

I likes to go swimmin with bald headed women

I'm Popeye the sailor maaannnnn

(toot toot)

PEE ESS.

Who do you think would prevail in a battle to the death: Garlic or Turpentine? Tune in later to find the answer to this smelly question.