stop wanting my money and walter's murderous truck
One thing that makes me inexplicably happy is when some beurocratic blowhard is asking for some trivial bit of information that he doesn't really need so that he can stick it in a stupid report somewhere, and I lie to him about it. He's happy because he got what he wanted, and I'm happy because making up numbers is easier than finding the real shit out.In other making-up-numbers news, my credit card company from 2 years ago informed me today that I owe them $700 on a card that had a $500 limit. Does that seem absurd to anyone besides me?
the last time I called the phone company to get a phone turned on, the lady said "Hey you have an outstanding bill here for $17.00 from an address three years ago"
I was like: "Okay, just put that on my bill and I'll pay that too"
"Oh no, we can't collect for that bill"
Right then I turned myself into sound waves, jumped through the phone, grabbed that lady by the neck area and began poking her in the eye and asking her over and over again why she told me about it to begin with.
My current operating theory is that any group of people numbering more than 30 is going to have some bullshit going on in it. It's unavoidable. Socialism, for instance, is a great idea, but it just doesn't work for a whole country. In small groups it's fine.
Anyway, boo on people wanting my money and not willing to send me liquor/whores in return. This is why I drive a shitty little volvo wagon that I paid $300 for, because I refuse to deal with the moeny people any more to have a car loan. Those guys have no sense of humor whatsoever.
I drove Walter's suburban to work tonight because I still have my volvo apart for repair work. It needs to be put back together but I keep running out of time and having to drive up here to work.
The problem with Walter's suburban is that it has a tendancy to jerk to the left when you put the brakes on. It's kinda scary once you get that big bitch up to 75 or so and have to step on the brakes because the fella to your left is cutting in front of you, and the only blinker he's ever heard of is someone with something in their eye.
I swear that suburban is trying to kill me.
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