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April 30, 2007
Vol. 8 Issue 18
“The difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits”…Anonymous
Six of the most dreaded words in the English language, conveying the same warmth and thrill of a road kill skunk, are “Call toll free for customer service.” These notorious words rank right up there, in the hall of fame of ill repute, with “Bend over, this won’t hurt a bit” and “Easy assembly; no tools needed.”
Recently, the skeletal remains of Miss Manners were discovered littered among a pack of corporate toadies and marketing wunderkinds who, having had their brains lobotomized of all sense of propriety, set about inflicting the American public with their pathetic version of doublespeak.
A short time ago mourners gathered to pay final respects to the massacred remains of civility, cordiality, and customer service. The perception of common sense and manners as we knew them, were found with their entrails hanging on the mantle of indifference while the surgically enhanced and mentally diminished crowd played with their unimaginativeness in their own little world of alternate reality. The bodies and carcasses of reasonable and rational thought, along with common courtesy, lie littered along the banks of Capital Hill, the Rio Grande, and the Minnesota borders. All that is left scattered throughout the “killing fields” of practical thought are absurdity and rudeness as they continue their bloodbath on normal society.
The funeral procession wove through society and was limited to small griefstricken groups that had supported traditional values and manners, and who had been known to curse profusely and physically throw a phone out the window at the “We value your business a customer service representative will be with you shortly” command. A moment of pure rejoicing occurred when a traveling 800 number salesman was run over by the motorcade after falling off the front wheel of the moving hearse while trying to steal the hubcaps to sell on eBay. In another moment of ecstasy, on an otherwise moribund and somber day, the inventor of the “Voice Activated Answering System” was dumped into a vat of boiling trans fats which had been smuggled into the proceedings by a swarm of unemployed potato chip salesmen. Hordes of grieving victims became unruly, and the situation quickly deteriorated into a mob scene reminiscent of an 19th century public hanging as they started to dump in representatives of the cable company, credit card answering services, do nothing legislators, and the instigators of the “Press #1 if you think we care; Press #2 to reach a foreign employee who doesn’t know what they are talking about; and Press #93 if your iron lung is not working because the power is out. (This one bypasses the power company and goes directly to your next of kin.)
The funeral proceeded through the valley of tears of indifference with packs of insensitive computer programmers and other barmy inventors flaunting the mourners with their jibes and off key singing of “Take Your Time and Shove It,” while a band of wild bores (former network anchors and political consultants) were spotted dancing haphazardly to their muted iPod tunes and taunting, Press #99 if you speak English. This fiasco ended quickly when a disgruntled bear hunter, snoozing peacefully behind a clump of tag alders and dead dandelions, was disturbed by the unsavory noise. Taking aim, he popped a screeching computer programmer who was yodeling “Here’s a Quarter, Call Someone who Cares” and he now proudly displays the stuffed victim mounted over his mantle with the caption, “Version 92.1; All our lines are busy, please standby for the next customer service representative.”
Passing by the bunkers of Dr. Microstein and his army of flickering I.Q.’ed techno-geeks with their smoldering hemp and constipated thought, the bereaved were subjected to a graffiti frenzy that has become a legend in insensitivity. Roving bands of horn-rimmed individuals, all wearing large oversized sneakers with no shoelaces, pocket protectors, and caps perched backwards on their pointed heads, were observed carving obscene Haiku poems on passing boxcars and etching misspelled vegetarian slogans on a biodegradable Rosie O’Donnell billboard.
With the final burial of any regard for the customer or taxpayer, hordes of cowardly bureaucrats and mobs of slide rule carrying members of the living dead made a final stab into thoughtlessness when a Minnesota school district forbade the children of the taxpayers who support the school system from riding on certain busses. Their crime was that they spoke English and the children of green-carders and illegal aliens took offense at riding with American Citizens who insult them with their “damn English.” Like the Wizard of Oz, these administrative mental midgets sit behind a curtain to hide their identity and bark out commands that fly in the face of reasonableness. I can only assume that a bad batch of pickled lutefisk and low halogen levels caused this outbreak of madness. Maybe we need border guards at the Duluth border to prevent this line of reasoning from invading our territory. “The only difference between the Titanic and that school district was that the Titanic had a good band playing.”
And now we find that the most dangerous job in America is that of being a border guard. The danger lies, not in the illegal aliens who are smuggling drugs into this country, injuring the guards with the weapons that they carry, but in the fact that their own U.S. government will throw them in jail for doing their job by stopping the aliens from entering. This wacko thinking comes from our Homeland Security department; those wonderful folks who gave us the Hurricane Katrina clean up and are responsible for strip searching grandmothers who try to fly. These people sound a little kinky to me.
In a further sign of the unruly times we live in, a Los Angeles gang member was pummeled to a pulp while trying to win a bet. He attempted to pick up a burqa chick adorned in her traditional white burlap evening attire, only to discover it was a KKK member named Bubba going to his local conclave’s picnic. He did not take too kindly to the gang members’ amorous moves.
What’s this world coming to?
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