10/27/04: Customer Service Phoneys

Things have been a little slow around the verbungle.com compound over the last few days.  I am adjusting to city life again, and I have not been feeling well.  I'm also suffering from a bit of that post-vacation letdown.  The realization that you are not a man of leisure but rather just a mid-level working stiff always takes a little while to get used to. And it's kind of got me in a funk. I'm in that stage where I'm sick of everything, and that includes this stupid website.  I want to make a new cool website or something or maybe just dump this one and put up a picture of a winsome dog.  Not bloody likely. 

I mentioned that my phone was mortally wounded in L.A. last week.  So I decided to call Sprint and see about getting a new one. I was pleased to discover that my contract was up, so I figured I had huge bargaining power.  If they didn't offer me some swanky new phone, I could walk, and some other provider was bound to offer me the world to sign up.  Well, I got on the phone with Sprint and the best they could do was offer me what a new subscriber would get, which was a discount on a new phone.*  They didn't care that I have been a customer for five years and could pack up and leave without a penalty. These are the rules, they said. F them. Over the last five years, almost everybody I know who has had Sprint has had bad experiences and told me I should leave. But I have stuck with them, because frankly my service has been excellent.  And now they are ready to let me walk away.  It's a sad day.  I could get a regular, uncool phone for free, but where's the fun in that? 

The Sprint situation, along with seeing all the nice houses the wealthy people in Southern California own, left me wishing I had a lot of money.  Not Donald Trump Fuck You Money, but I think I would like to be making around 300 grand a year. I wish I had realized how shallow I was before I chose such a poorly-compensated career path.

When one dies, cremation is clearly the thoughtful way to go. It's cheap, it's easier to deal with ashes than a body, and it's just much less of a burden for all involved. Sure, there's the whole urn dilemma  -- do you keep the ashes, do you spread them symbolically over the deceased's favorite fishing spot or in the ivy at Wrigley Field or something?  Or do you just let the crematorium dispose of them?  It doesn't matter in my case. I have semi-officially decided I want an open casket. But that's not all.  I don't want a traditional coffin. I want to be permanently displayed in a vertical glass case with 360 degree viewabliity, and I want the embalmers to fix my face with a hideously contorted look of abject shock. I want to be a grotesque reminder of the horror of death.  I don't want to be buried in a suit, rather a purple thong with little Santa Clauses on it.  Across my chest, I want the word WHY? tattooed in dark red ink. During viewing hours, I will have provided the cemetery staff with a selection of bad death-related songs from which to choose.  Let my misery in death remind everyone how much I loved life. 

Fox's baseball coverage is abysmal, and never has it sunk lower than during tonight's IN-GAME interview with Leon from the Budweiser commercials. Unreal. Leon, you just bought yourself a spot on the list of annoying pitchmen. And Fox, you just hooked yourself up with a long overdue spot on the boycott list. I know you'll have to deal with Fox in some capacity in your life (like watching the World Series), but I think we all need to boycott these fuckers whenever we get the chance.

Speaking of lame television networks, I heard a rumor today that the FN may be working on a "What Would Jesus Eat" Primetime special. That's got serious gas face potential.  The answer, as we all know anyway, is Cool Ranch Flavor Doritos. Hopefully all the prophets from Mohammed to David Koresh will receive similar treatment.

Boy am I dreading the Red Sox coronation.

I thought of a variation on Pete B.'s brilliant google image searching game. Instead of just searching for random pictures of drunks, etc. (or rather in addition to searching for random pictures of drunks, etc.), how about someone posts an image and people have to guess what google search led to this random, stupid picture.  You can start with our bearded friend above.  What did I type into my search box that brought me to this fine fella?

* Actually, I wasn't even eligible for the full discount a new customer could get. So I have been a customer for five years, and even if I sign a contract for an additional two years like a new customer would, the person off the street gets a better deal on their phone.  Dicks. DICKS.