Archive for October, 2007

In Which Guns Are Drawn

October 30th, 2007 1 comment

It’s not that I don’t stay up late to begin with, but it was slightly later than normal last night/this morning because…oh, god, I’m going to have to admit this, aren’t I…

This guy has a joke with the punchline, “I’m Chris Hansen from Dateline”.  I don’t spend much time on network shows but given the context of the punchline, I pretty much knew what it was.  For those who don’t (and I’m probably the only one who doesn’t/didn’t), Chris Hansen does a show called To Catch A Predator in which adult males looking to have sex with a 12-15 year old instead get confronted by Chris Hansen with a fistful of chat transcripts and, when he’s done “interviewing” them get arrested outside by the cops as they attempt to get stupidly back in their car.

What I saw last night was Predator Raw  (mmmmm) on MSNBC.  I suppose you’d call it a documentary about the documentary.  It consisted of the “raw” footage of these idiots getting caught, how they conduct the sting and some very enlightening interviews with Chris Hansen himself.

It was astounding and not in a good way.

I’m not sure about the logistics of the show and, frankly, I’m not going to look into it right now, but what I saw was a disquieting blending of a news network and the police that reminded my of the the Clash song, Death Or Glory

I believe in this and it’s been tested by research
That he who fucks nuns will later join the church

This show isn’t like Cops where a camera crew follows cops and (theoretically) stays out of their way.  This show is built around the television network grabbing the glory as the cops (following the metaphor) bend over for Chris Hansen.

This sting happens thusly – NBC rigs a house with cameras.  Someone goes online pretending to be a minor and allows willingly scumbags to come over and have sex with her.  The perp shows up.  The “teen” played by a woman who looks child-like, excuses herself right off the bat.  She walks through a door and then turns into Chris Hansen who “just wants to talk to you for a couple of minutes”.  Chris listens to the perp and, if the perp tries to talk his way out of it, reads the chat transcripts.  This is the second most gratuitous part of the show

Perp:  I was…I wasn’t gonna, you know, disrespect her, you know…I was…
Chris:  But here it says, and I’m quoting, “I want to put my thang in your mouth”.  (Pause)  What does that mean?
Perp:  (Looking confused at the idiocy of such a question)  Um…
Chris:  “I want to put my thang in your mouth”?  Can you explain that?
Perp:  Uh…I wanted to put my dick in her mouth.

You can make a case (a bad one) for this kind of questioning. We know this guy wants to fuck a teenager so what’s the point of ramming the point home repeatedly…particulary when the guy isn’t really putting up a struggle?  He knows he got caught.  Sure, he’s still got a surprise when he leaves but why read lines like “Are you wet?” on air?  I’m not necessarily saying that Chris gets half a chubby reading stuff like that but it makes me wonder how many teen-fuckers watch this show not as a cautionary tale, but as the equivalent of soft porn.

Once Chris proves to the perp and the public that his crusade for video justice once again saved the world he tells them surreally, “If you have anything else to say to us, we’d love to hear it.  Otherwise, you’re free to go.”  HA!  Chris Hansen believes he’s truly a judge.  What kind of power trip must that be?!  “I’m Chris Hansen and for the next three to five minutes, you will believe that I actually hold sway over the course of your life.  Ha, ha, just kidding!  Get outta here you knucklehead!”  Why can’t I get paid to judge people television with no consequence to myself?  (This also brings up a question – When Chris has sex does he say, “Call me Daddy” or “I’m…Chris…Hansen…from…DAAAATELIIIIIINE”?)  Blackwater International is a private for-profit army.  Chris Hansen is a private for-profit court.  How long is it until Blackwater gets off their ass and produces their own show?

Once the perp walks out the door the cops descend upon him – with guns drawn and push him face down to the ground.  WHAT?  We’re talking about a non-violent crime here!  Over-react much?  If this scummy asshole with the white chocolate and the condoms guy had a weapon, he would have pulled it on Chris Hansen.  I understand cops screaming “YOU’RE UNDER ARREST!  HANDS IN THE AIR!!”  I even understand having a gun drawn, but four cops with four guns pointed directly at the perp makes no sense at all.  It’s television.  It’s strictly for effect.

Hansen:  Now, when you arrest him, can you, you know, really play it up?
Cop:  Whaddya mean?
Hansen:  You know, like they do on the crime shows.  Guns drawn, screaming, yelling, push him onto the ground.
Cop:  Sir, this is a non-violent offender arrested for a non-violent crime.  There’s no good reason for it.
Hansen:  Hm.  Can I ask you one more question?
Cop:  Of course, sir.
Hansen:  Can you give me the names of a couple of other cops who’d actually like  to be on TV, because you won’t be.
Chris:  Perfecto

I hope it’s clear that I am not pro-teen sex here.  I’m anti-“making money off it”.  I also want to address the somewhat awkward avoidance of the term “pedophile”.  In Georgia, a seventeen year old kid went to prison for having sex with fifteen year old girl.  Yes, it’s statutory rape, but it’s NOT pedophilia.  Calling it that negates the power of the word. 

Teen-sex is a problem and don’t think it’s not.  If you want to get really depressed, create an AIM profile and try it yourself.  Pretend to be a 14yr old girl throw in a couple of flirty (or not so flirty) attributes and go online.  You’ll get inundated with chat requests sometimes within seconds of signing on.  Some will be horny teenage boys but they’ll be a fair amount of legal adults.  Most will want to have sex with you both cyber and real.

It’s depressing – but should it be entertainment? 

* * * * * * *

Bonus Material – Not For The Faint Of Heart 

Years ago, Doug Stanhope ran a site (now defunct but still available) called  The focus of the site was to see how far these online assholes would go to have sex with a teenager.  By that, I mean, Stanhope and friends would get progressively more horrific, foul and deviant and wait for the perp to vomit and/or leave.  Stanhope’s rationale, beside comedy, was to freak the assholes out to the point where they could no longer IM.  Sadly, they stay around for far too long.

Here’s an almost palatable taste of it

NYCockExchange: I’m not so much into music, as I am into poetry.
NYCockExchange: I don’t just share my poems with anyone, though… In fact, I haven’t shared them with *anyone*. You can be the first.
tenchi27858: whose ur fave poet
NYCockExchange: I like Robert Frost, his style takes me another world. He was a true poet.
tenchi27858: i like egar allen poe
NYCockExchange: That’s cool. You don’t find him… umm… a little morbid?
tenchi27858: no
NYCockExchange: Good! Well, let me share my poems with you, okay?
tenchi27858: ok
NYCockExchange: time comes to a halt as we fuck / father time gets a stab wound in the back / between the ribs / blood flows into his lungs so he cannot even scream in pain / yet, the death begets a new life / joy takes the stage in this act of life / like an infant rising out of a c-section cut

NYCockExchange: Do you like it?
tenchi27858: pretty cool
NYCockExchange: Right on! What is your interpretation of these verses? How do they speak to your heart and soul?
tenchi27858: its like we are dust in the wind
NYCockExchange: Oh? That was a little different than what I had in mind, but, hey! Whatever makes your monkey jump, I guess.
tenchi27858: ur pretty cool
NYCockExchange: Thanks. What I had in mind, really, was a scene of myself stabbing a guy in the back during sex, then gutting him.
NYCockExchange: Anyway, here’s my next poem!

He stays on for several more poems before NYCockExchange casually mention that he has a penis.

Categories: Uncategorized Tags:

In Which It’s Not A Courtesy

October 24th, 2007 No comments

Why did it take me so long to figure this out?

Sales Weasal:  Hi, is Ms. (horrible mangling of name) home?

Me:  This is regarding…?

SW:  This is regarding her Macy’s card?

Me:  Is there a problem with it?

SW:  No, sir, it’s courtesy call regarding…

Me:  Courtesy?

SW:  Well, yes, sir.

Me:  No.  It’s a sales call.

SW:  Sir, it could be beneficial to you.

Me:  That’s not courtesy, though.  You’re calling to sell me something.  Not to…I don’t know…ask if I need a door opened or something.

SW:  Sir, this is my job.

Me:  Your job…which is selling things.  Not being courteous.  (Pause)  Am I missing something here?  I mean, you’re selling something, right?  (Pause)

SW:  Thank you for your time, sir.

Me:  My pleasure.

Categories: Telemarketing Tags:

In Which They’re American In A Bush Kind Of Way

October 24th, 2007 No comments

You don’t want to believe in first impressions but the evidence is frequently compelling.

“Hi.  Our washer is broken.  We need a replacement for the hose that feeds into the basin.”

“So, you need a drain hose.”

“Um.  No.  I don’t think so.  It’s the hose…it…it dumps the water into the basin.”

“A drain hose.”

“I don’t think it’s a drain hose.  It…doesn’t drain.  It – ”

“It sounds like you need a drain hose.”

I’m going to admit that I generally trust people who purport to know more about something than I do.  If you’re calling an appliance repair place like, say AMERICAN APPLIANCE IN WALTHAM (sorry, I got carried away), and you have no background in washer repair, what recourse do you have?  Maybe, like Gertrude Stein said, a hose is a hose is a hose.  Still, draining and feeding imply opposite actions unless, of course, you work for the bush white house where you cut back on troops by putting more boots on the ground.

Therefore, when the repair guy showed up a couple of days later, I wasn’t actually stunned when he told me that he didn’t have the correct part.  I went over the initial conversation I had.

“Yeah,” I told him, “he didn’t seem to understand what I was saying to him.”

“Yeah,” he told me somewhat resignedly, “he’s like that.”

That should have been tip off number two.  But the way he said it gave me a slight confidence that at least the repair guy knew what he was doing.  The part needed to be ordered.  Three to five days, probably.

Whatever.  It’s an old washer.  And the rodent (we’re still not sure what kind) ate through the entire hose.  I won’t bother going into the hell of the rat guy who, I felt sure, would collapse from a heart attack simply walking up the stairs and who kept banging his flashlight to get the most out of the next-to-dead battery.

After four days, I called to find out what the story was.  Magically, the part had just come in!  Am I lucky or WHAT?!

Two days later, we trudged down into the basement to fix the washer.

“Huh,” the repair guy grunted with blunt surprise, “I…uh…guess I need an extra part.  This rat,” and here he held up the plastic part the hose fit into, “ate through the plastic, too.  I’ll…uh…I’ll need to order this part, too.”

Now, I’m not saying I don’t make mistakes.  I’m not saying that I haven’t assumed and made and ASS out of U and ME(d).  So, knowing that, I could be annoyed but, you know, shit happens.  Sadly, in the world of AMERICAN APPLIANCE OF WALTHAM (sorry, again!), it happened frequently and took 3-5 days for the part to come in.

This time, though, they called first and thank God for small mercies.  Monday morning the phone rang and they told me the part had arrived and would Thursday be ok.  No, I informed them, it certainly fucking would NOT be ok.  I’d waited two weeks already.  I wanted this visit expedited.  This “customer service” drone sounded like the stereotypically “fuck you, Mr. Customer, I’m doing this job because I got hired to do it and you’re not making it very easy”.

“Sir,” she told me curtly, “Thursday is the earliest that we can get there.”

“First off,” I told her, “I’m unable to switch my schedule around for you people to come and tell me that you have the wrong part again.  Secondly, I’ve been waiting two weeks to get this fixed.  Are you telling me that you’re not even going to try to bump me up in the queue?”

When will people stop using “sir” and “ma’am”?  Once it was a sign of respect.  Now it’s used in place of “fuck you”.

“Sir,” she fuck-you’d, “Our repair people are completely book until Thursday.  That is the soonest that we can have some one come out to you.”

“Would you accept this level of service,” I asked her.  “Would you really be happy with this?  To get jerked around like this and then be told to wait some more?”

“Sir,” …, “I’m sorry that you been experiencing problems, but it is the earliest that someone can come out.  Will Friday work instead?”

I pretty much shut down.  I truly try to hold my tongue on the phone but I teetered on the verge of completely unloading on her.  But I needed it fixed.  I was, for lack of a better word, fucked.  I could have bailed any number of times during this process but I’d gone too far.  I re-wrote the major appliance version of Proust in my head until…

“Sir?  Are you there?  Sir?  Hello?  Is Friday ok?  Hello?”

“What?”  I’d lost contact with reality.

“Friday?  Will that work for you?”


“I can’t take a ‘whatever’, sir,” she said snidely, “Will Friday work for you?”


“He’ll be there between 10am and noon.”


“Sir, I cannot take a ‘whatever'”

Much to my credit, I did not ask if “fuck you” would suffice.

“That will be peachy!  I would be happy to be at my home between the hours of 10am and noon this Friday!”

“Thank you, sir”, she spat and hung up.

Now, I wouldn’t be writing this if it really ended there, would I?  Of course not.

Friday rolls around.  Much to my pleasure, my youngest had to be at school early which means my wife would take her in and I got to sleep in, somewhat.  Feeling it’s not very adult to sleep until 10am on a week day, I get up around 8:30am.  So, it took a minute or so to register that the doorbell woke me up and not my alarm clock.  Fumbling for it, I saw it was…7:45am.

Who the FUCK is ringing my door bell at 7:45am?

Who do you think it is?

“Hi,” said the pleasantly elderly man, “AMERICAN APPLIANCE OF WALTHAM” (I truly am sorry for the all-caps thing)

“Uh…hi,” I muttered, standing there in my robe, “you…uh…were…supposed to come…at…uh…10am.”

“Well,” he offered like I’d won a prize, “I’m here early!”

“Yeah.  Great.”

And he fixed it.  He gave me the bill and asked for a check.  I’m not good in the morning.  I hunted around but I couldn’t find the checkbook.

“We take cards, too,” he said helpfully.

Absolutely not.  They’re not getting off that easily, I muttered to myself.  No.  I told him, I couldn’t find the checkbook and, given the shit I’d gone through with them, they could bill me and I’d pay it promptly.  He called the office and, as I glowered at him, said I could go down and pay it when I got the checkbook.  “Personally,” he told me, “don’t kill yourself.  Monday’s fine.”

And so…oh…wait.  There’s more, isn’t there.  Oh, yes, there is.

This morning AMERICAN APPLIANCE OF WALTHAM (even I wish I would stop this) called my house  not once but three times in succession.  Did they leave a message?  Well, not really.  They left the sound of office chatter.  I’m serious.  It was as if they didn’t really understand how an answering machine works.  It was just…chatter.  Not even worth transcribing even if I hadn’t deleted it.  I needed to run errands today anyway, so I grabbed the checkbook and went to yell at them with the secondary goal of paying my tab.

They found my bill quickly enough.  However, they didn’t seem terribly interested in my complaint.  So much so that when I told them about the “drain hose” portion of the story he shrugged and said that “well, they would have needed to get a new part anyway.”

They would have gotten the right part to begin with”, I countered.  He wasn’t buying it.  I guess the point was that it didn’t matter if they’d been properly prepared, they would have fucked the job up anyway, so why was I getting bent out of shape.  Obviously, this was going nowhere.  I scribbled the check, threw it on the counter and stalked out.

“Sir,” he fuck-you’d, “do you want your receipt?”

“NO,” I growled and jumped in the car, cursing and reminding myself not to get into an accident.

And so…

Oh, sweet Jesus.  It’s not over?  How could there be more, you’re asking yourself?  How in the name of a God that destroyed the world and everything on it could this story continue?  The washer is fixed.  You paid for it.  What’s left?

Like all good drama, I left out the InSinkerator.  Our garbage disposal fritzed out couple of months earlier.  We could still use it, but it was, for all intents and purposes, broken.  The repair guy fixed it on visit number 2.

An hour after leaving AMERICAN APPLIANCE OF WALTHAM (I should stop apologizing for this…sorry!), I got a call on my cell –

“Mr. Day?  I’m sorry to bother you, but the balance we quoted that we owed you?…we undercharged you.”


“I’m sorry, sir, but we messed up on the paper work and gave you the wrong balance.”


“Sir, I understand…”


“Sir, the InSinkerator…”

“Listen,” I said, somewhat regaining my composure, “this is a nightmare.  I hope you realize this.  The worst experience I’ve ever had getting something fixed.”

“Sir, I – ”

“Stop.  You know what – I felt a little bad trashing you to everyone I knew.  I don’t anymore.  I’m going to make sure that anyone that will listen to me understands that this is a horrible company.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” and if I could have bitch slapped him through the miracle of wireless technology, I would have, “but we made a mistake and didn’t charge for the InSinkerator part.  I can send you the invoices…”

“Great.  Send ’em.  I’ll take a look at them and then we’ll talk.”

“Thank you…sir.”

I didn’t even bother responding and hung up.

There’s a 10% chance I’ll pay the bill.  When I got home, I called the company that referred them.  They showed more interest in the problem then AMERICAN APPLIANCE OF WALTHAM (yes, I know) did.  So much so, that I wound up constantly assuring them I felt no rancor toward their company at all.  I simply wanted them to know that they should refer…um…THE COMPANY…to anyone else.

“You know, what, I’m gonna call them and let them know.  Might as well give to them from both ends.  And as far as the rest of the bill goes, let it sit for a while.  If they press, ask ’em if they wanna go to court or not.”

I felt, at last, validated since after their last call (and with at least three people looking at me like I was a madman) I stalked around the street muttering loudly, “I have never wanted to go to small claims court so badly in all my life.”

I’m sure I don’t need to tack on a moral to this story, but here’s one anyway

Early to bed, early to rise
Makes a man already awake when AMERICAN APPLIANCE OF WALTHAM arrives
(Two and a half hours earlier than their scheduled appointment)

Categories: American Appliance, Flame Tags:

In Which They Should Have Shown Up

October 4th, 2007 1 comment

The Religious Right is in decline.  White, evangelical Christian vote fell preciptiously in the 2006 election because Bush lied and millions died…not in Iraq, but in “abortuaries” and because, since there’s still no Federal Marriage Amendment, homos and lesbians still rob God and the Social Security fund of “pre-borns” that will never…borned.  Seriously.  There’s plenty of hard-core Christians that are pissed at bush for lying not once but twice.  The Jesus Machine does a great job detailing how the frat boy Republican party seduced the mildly retarded but virtuous Christian Conservatives, promised to marry them, fucked them, left them at the altar…and then did it three more times.

I don’t agree with Gilgoff that Dobson and company still hold power.  They are now the middle-aged perpetual other woman who you can fuck in the backseat if you pretend to have a modicum of respect her and always call her “ma’am.”  Hence, a “coalition of influential Christian Conservatives” (guess who?!) threatened to run their own third party candidate if ANY pro-abortion (and probably pro-homo) Republican gets the Presidential nomination.  In effect, they want the GOP to know they’ll take their horseshoes and go home…except the GOP is playing checkers. 

OMG!  What’s going to happen?  The bigger question is – who cares?  Mike Huckabee “won” the Values Voter debate.  Janet Folger, the author of the sublty titled The Criminalization Of Christianity: Read This Book Before It Becomes Illegal, said “God, You need to tell us who you want to be President of the United States”.  Turn out God told something like 60% of the straw poll voters to vote for Huckabee.  Now, you’d think that with an endorsement from God, Huckabee might get a bit of a bump in the polls.   Not so much.  Turns out that for September, in 9 out of the 21 polls listed in USA Election Polls, Huckabee doesn’t even register.  Oh, sure, he went from nothing to 7% in the CNN poll but went down on the Fox poll.

Let’s just be clear – the hardcore Christian right held a debate in which the top 4 republican candidates didn’t show up, the “winner” of the debate made none or negative movement in the polls and Dobson thinks a third party Jesus candidate can either influence the outcome of the election or actually win?

I just wanna step back to the mildly retarded comment I made earlier.  Frankly, I flinched a little when I wrote it.  I shouldn’t have said that.  They’re completely retarded.

Both the GOP and the Democrats missed a golden opportunity at the Values Voter debates.  They could have easily stood up at the podiums and said, “I believe in God.  I believe in the United States.  And I believe that the American people will no longer tolerate you sad attempts to turn this country into a theocracy.  I believe that freedom of religion does not apply to Christianity only.  Start respecting other religions and we’ll start respecting yours.  Otherwise, shut the fuck up.  Thank you and God bless”.  That’s a speech tailor made for Kucinch and Guiliani.

But they turned tail and ran.

Too bad.

I think God would have liked that.

Categories: 2008 Debacle, CrossTalk, Culture, Dobson, Religion Tags:

In Which It’s Infinately Recursive

October 1st, 2007 2 comments

Erin Judge has one of my favorite bits lately. It goes something like

…and there are these two women I hate sitting and eating and one says, “Oh…my…god!  Muffins are sooo bad for you!  Muffins….are like cake disguised as a muffin.”  Oh, yeah?  Well, fuck you and your infinately recursive definition of “muffin”.

Pity this poor person if or when he figures it out

I made a really subtly satirical video-reply to conservative Christian, Billy Bob Neck’s video on Youtube. He lacked the proper insight to realize it was a joke, and thought I was supporting him. Be sure to watch his video first ( ) before watching the response in the blog.

Yes, indeed.  Billy Bob lacked the proper insight to realize it was a joke.  Despite all the subtle hints Rob left in his video, poor, stupid Billy Bob just could not understand that his denim-clad leg was being pulled.  Rather, Billy Bob praised him and thanked him for his kindness publically and in several different places.

Stupid redneck.

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