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1:19 a.m. on 2002-05-13 I've been having one of those really great Sundays when you spend half the night trying to clear the infinite sea of snot from your nose. I blow in vain, and you know, it clears up for a second. But before I even have the chance to smile, the nasal cavity fills back up with snot and I'm throwing my head against the wall. To compound things, the cats seem to have discovered a way to undo their "operation" and have once again turned my body into their own personal whorehouse. If one more cat wakes me up by squatting on my face and purring, fur will fly and kittens will die. I also called up Columbia House to try and clear up a little fuck up on their part. Last week, I became the "proud owner" of Jurassic Park 3. Fuck that. I had this film forced on me. Probably because nobody else wanted it. I called up the unearthly moronic customer service center. "HI, MY NAME IS KIM!!! HOW CAN I HELP YOU?" "You're screaming." "Well, ok sir...how can I help you?" "You people sent me Jurassic Park 3 and i want it out my house." (I give my name and acct. # and all of that shit) "Well, it says here sir that you never sent us back the directors club card which means we had the go ahead to send it to you." "What exactly is that based on? (I tried not to sound snotty here)I purchased already 'Rear Window' 'Apocalypse Now' and 'Dr. Strangelove' so how exactly was a presumption made based upon my tastes that I needed 'Jurassic Park 3 to complete my fanstasy film collection." "Well sir, you never sent us the card..." "Yes, I did send the card. And I wrote a little note on it that said 'Please tell Steven Spielberg to stop making fucking movies about fucking dinosaurs.'" And then she hung up. I ended my conventional sunday night by watching that one-hit wonders shit on VH1 and all I got out of it was that many, MANY songs should never even have made it to one-hit status and also that William Shatner has begun to resemble a panda bear. I'm going to kill my cats. Goodnight! in the slammer - up for parole CLIX |
