You Know What You Did . . .

It’s been a while since I’ve gone on a good rant.

Below is a list of people who have been getting my goat lately. (You know, as far as figures of speech go, this one’s pretty inaccurate, at least as it applies to me. I don’t want a goat, so if I had one, and someone came and got it, I would actually be quite pleased.)

Without further ado:

1. People in line at the coffee shop. You know what? They already have a menu, and you don’t need to stand there and create a ½ this, ¼ that, double this, triple that so everyone can see the exacting standards you live your life under. If you don’t like the menu, go somewhere else. When they put a drink called Pompous Assuccino on the menu, then you can order whatever you want. Until then, order any one of the other thirty menu offerings and quietly step aside.

2. People at a four-way stop intersection. It never fails. When I have the right-of-way, everyone else tries to go. And when I don’t have it, we all sit there and admire each other’s cars. So, as a public service, I am going to spell this out in simple chapter and verse. At a four-way stop intersection, yield to the driver on the right if you reach the intersection at the same time as another vehicle, and yield to any vehicle that reaches the intersection before you. There it is. Now you can get through that intersection quicker and get back to what's really important - that text message you were writing before you had to stop.

3. People with Bluetooth earpieces. I can appreciate the usefulness of Bluetooth technology. It increases productivity in the business community, and it increases traffic safety for those who insist on using their cell phone while driving. However, I don’t think it offers much at the movie theater on Friday night. Honestly – if you are so vitally important to the function of society that you can’t leave it in the car for a couple of hours, then maybe you shouldn’t be at the movies. I guess it helps when ordering a Pompous Assuccino, though, because the two seem to go hand-in-hand.

4. People who won’t pay at the pump. Face it – gas is liquid gold and you can’t buy it anymore without paying up front. On occasion, I like to get a cup of coffee after I fill the tank, and nothing makes me happier than standing there and waiting while you explain to the cashier that you gave the OTHER cashier a $20 bill to pre-pay on pump #4, but you only pumped $18.74, and now you need your $1.26 in change, and now that you’ve seen me and my steaming cup of coffee, it looks really good to you, so you take the $1.26 and get yourself a cup of coffee, and get in line AGAIN to piss off someone else. It’s a vicious cycle, and like Erasure said, it doesn’t have to be like that. A simple debit card will, in all likelihood, save you from a well-deserved beating somewhere down the road.

5. People with $54.90 in returnable bottles/cans. Really – I love standing behind you with my 30 cans while you pump your 549 through the machine. And since you only rinsed out six of them, I also enjoy walking through the sticky remainder that is oozing out of the two black lawn & leaf size bags in your cart. I also love eavesdropping on your Bluetooth cell phone conversation, which is apparently more important than recycling, as evidenced by the dramatic pause of you holding the can to the point where it’s actually inside the machine, but not letting it go until it’s your turn to talk again.

6. People who empty the communal coffee pot and sneak away. My new(er) job prevents me from doing this, but back in my days at the trash hauling company, whenever I would find an empty coffee pot, I would take it and walk around the building with it until I found someone with a full cup, and then I would hand it to them and thank them for not making any coffee. It worked every time. I have more respect for the guy who walks in, sees an ALMOST empty pot, sets his empty cup down next to the pot, as if to say “Make me some coffee, bitch!” and then comes back later. However, karma steps in, and when I see that cup in the holding pattern, I empty the pot and sneak away.

7. U-SCAN checkouts. I was in a Meijer store recently (yes, I name them by name) that I hadn’t been to in quite some time. When I went to check out, EVERY lane was a U-SCAN lane. I had produce, man – nobody needs that kind of pressure. I put the onion on the scale, and I punched all the buttons to get me to the onion screen. I didn’t know if the onion I grabbed was a sweet onion, a cooking onion, or if it was small, medium, or large, and apparently, that’s key information. So I went with medium cooking onion, all the while waiting for the U-SCAN Overlord to walk over and tell me it was indeed a large sweet onion and that I was being detained until security could come back and ask me a few questions. My question to them, in between blows, would be “How come I have to look at 15 pictures of onions and make a judgment call that you obviously aren’t happy with when there is a sticker on this one with a four digit code on it?”

In any event, don’t be that guy.

I’m out-
KWass

And The New Name Is . . . Vox Acerbus

I finally came up with something I consider not only accurate, but borderline clever.

Vox acerbus, loosely translated, is "bitter voice", and who's more bitter than me?

Now, I've been asked on more than one occasion, "why are you so damn bitter?". And the answer is quite simple: it's none of your damn business, and I'll thank you to stay out of my personal affairs.

Not really. I just like to say that. Although, technically, I wrote it, but if you want to argue semantics, then you can just take your ass down the road by clicking the "next blog" link at the top of this page.

Not really. But sometimes, you need to be taken down a notch and be told, straight out, that you are not the cat's ass like you think, and that's what I'm here for. Most of the time, I am right, and you are not.

Not really. But that goes without saying doesn't it? You want to be right? Then write your own blog. You want to be wrong? Then keep reading mine.

Not really. But you keep coming back, right? Why? I'll tell you. Because I am the vinegar in your sugary world. Remember my rant about the coloring books? It's true. Without a little sour, the sweetness becomes to much to bear.

Think of me as your own personal Col. Nathan Jessep. Because my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves boredom. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on this blog. You need me on this blog. And I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very blog that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you take up a blog, and write a post.

Really.

I'm out-
KWass

Comcast Sucks Ass

Comcast is the suckiest company ever.

These bastards owe me a credit of $190, and they've owed it since April of 2006. And now, they say it's been so long, they don't have records that far back.

WTF???

So now, I will use my blog to openly mock and ridicule them until they get their shit together. How ironic - I use the service they provide to take them down a notch. Kind of like making them eat their own poop. Or, kind of like beating a clown with his own big ass shoe (see, I wasn't kidding in that earlier post, was I?)

Back in June, 2005, I moved into an apartment and transferred service from my previous address. Then they overcharged me $15 a month for 10 months (until April, 2006), at which time I caught on to their shenanigans and called them out on it. To date, not dime one has been credited. So that's the first $150, but it gets better.

I am a pretty patient guy, so I only called them every few months to find out why I hadn't seen the ducats yet. Each time I was told it was "in the notes" and would be processed. And then one day, I come home to find my service disconnected. Apparently, the "notes" people don't get along with the "disconnect" people over there. It was probably because the "notes" people cracked on the "disconnects" mama by calling her a stank ass ho, but that's neither here nor there. I don't care if someone's mama is ho'in' - all I know is I can't watch Wheel of Fortune. Not only that, being $190 in the red, I can't even buy the vowels I need to solve the puzzle "C_mc_st S_cks _ss". Anyway, I called to bitch and they restored the service, but still didn't issue the credit.

And now, the service disconnection has become a monthly ritual. Every month, around the 22nd or so, they shut my service off. And every month, I call and waste 45 minutes chewing some $7/hour punk's ass. Until last month, when I was finally able to talk to a MANAGER. Finally, I thought, some resolution. He goes through my history and tells me the reasons my bills are always high is because I was charged for the "throw ins" I'd been offered whenever I'd threatened to cancel. So apparently, a peace offering at Comcast means charge people for services they never even asked for! So, he summons the managerial power granted to him by Comcast On High and throws me a bone - a $40 "instant credit" to get my service restored - and PRESTO, my service comes back on immediately.

So, today . . . . my service is disconnected again! So I look at my bill. Not only is the $150 credit not there, but neither is the $40 "instant credit". So I pop a Midol (this call occurs monthly now, like a period, so I thought it might take the edge off before I dialed the phone) and dial 1-800-COMCAST. Actually, I didn't dial it. It's on speed dial.

And now I know - the credit hasn't been issued because the "notes" don't go that far back on the system! (Oddly enough, they can still see that pay-per-view porn movie I "accidentally" ordered back in 2002 - go figure.) If I want that credit, I'm told, I have to go to my local Comcast office and "help them find it in the archives". Never mind that NO ONE I have ever talked to has been in my local office. If this information was on a sidewalk on a cold winter's morning, it would be steaming.

So I pay my bill (minus $190, of course, so they can shut me off again next month) to buy some time until I get back to town to visit the local office to do some prospectin' in the archives. But first, I am going to have some Taco Bell and a 6-pack of Pabst. And a Midol - goes without saying, doesn't it? And then, when I get there, I am going to ask to use the rest room. You mess with the bull, you get the horns. They can't find my credit, but I'll bet they know where the plunger is.

Here's the kicker - when I asked why the credit wasn't issued in the first place, I was told that a phone rep probably entered the note but that a manager never "approved" the transaction. So, a Comcast rep can offer the sun, moon, stars, and a night with the "disconnects" mama at a rate substantially below street value, but if the supervisor doesn't approve it later, it just disappears (cue "Dust In The Wind") like it never happened.

So, if they can't produce it, I am paying my next bill in person - with a sock full of quarters. Stay tuned . . .

I'm out-

KWass

Coloring Books

I color in coloring books, and most times I stay all the way inside the lines, but sometimes I go outside the lines, and you know what? I don't apologize for it. Not now. Not ever.

Who gives the coloring book publisher the right to tell me what parts of the page need to be filled in? Your bold black lines can't limit the vision and scope of my imagination. Your sketch is merely a suggestion, and my $0.99 purchase price gives me the inherent if not full legal right to complete the scene as I see fit. What if I want to add busted liquor bottles and spent jimmies to a street scene to represent rampant urban blight and decay? Life isn't always kites and rainbows and flowers. Sometimes, life is busted liquor bottles and spent jimmies.

And you know who else thinks they hold the patent on colorful creativity? Those asshole "color by number" publishers, that's who. Not only do I have to stay in their lines, but I have to color it the way they want it colored? Well, color me "pissed". If the leaves on the tree are marked with a "2" and the guide says "2" is green, but I feel the essence of the drawing is more autumn and I want to use red, orange and yellow, well then sir, I will see you in court.

You can't copyright me.

I'm out-

KWass

Fruit at the Bottom, Anger on Top

I enjoy a good yogurt. All kinds, all flavors. It’s nutritious and delicious. And it’s convenient. No preparation necessary. Open the lid, and you are spoon deep in velvety fruit goodness, unless your container is marked fruit-at-the-bottom.

Fruit-at-the-bottom yogurt is an unfinished product. They put the fruit in, they put the yogurt in, and then they quit. Why should I, the consumer, the end-user, have to blend the fruit-at-the-bottom into the rest of the yogurt? Why can’t it be fruit-at-the-top? Then, when I open it, I won’t have to see multiple layers of laziness. I won’t have to throw up a little in my mouth when I see the watery milky slime on the top. I won’t have to question whether I’ve adequately prepared the yogurt after I stir it for 5 minutes and it’s still white. Shouldn’t strawberry yogurt turn pink? Blueberry blue?

I buy yogurt because I DON’T want to make it. In this day and age of highly mechanized food preparation, they can’t mix it up even just a little? The fruit shouldn’t be at the bottom, or the top, or in the middle. It should be “fruit throughout”, and they should put it there – not me. Modern science allows microwavable meals, with MEAT in them, that require NO freezing or refrigeration, and yet I have to imagine my spoon as a little tiny boat oar so I can row myself to my culinary destination? I think not.

I will no longer support this half-ass dairy product.

I’m out –

KWass

Clowns

I seriously despise clowns. It's not coulrophobia (the official term for fear of clowns), because they don't scare me, and I didn't have a traumatic clown episode as a child. I think they are sinister, have alterior motives, and are hiding behind the wig and makeup and silly clothes, not to mention the shoes. Why do all clowns think that big ass feet are funny? It WOULD be funny, however, if I was giving a clown a beatdown with one of his own big ass shoes (which is on my list of things to do before I die, BTW).

This is what should happen to all clowns.



I'm out-

KWass