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01-05-2009, 01:53 PM | #1 | |
Adjusting to the Life
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I had a genuinely terrible weekend.
So, this last saturday afternoon I am headed home from the smoke shop when I stop at the intersection by my house, the one with the camera. I am not paying too much attention and I may have jumped the gun and started to go across the intersection in that 2 or so seconds after the light for the intersection is red, but my intersection is still red as well, because I look up, and see a flash of light, although my way appears to be green?
Anyway, it could be that I am incredibly paranoid about these damned tax collectors. I got hit with one of these red light camera tickets two years ago and ever since then, have been rightfully paranoid about these things. These tickets cost $500 dollars and ever since one got me, I've been paranoid and extremely careful around these things, apparently for naught. It may be for nothing, but I get to spend the next two weeks wondering if I got one of those "I hope whoever invented these things spends the next eternity plus ten thousand years having his limbs twisted into unspeakable shapes by the thrice damned hags of the outer darkness and sodomized by the fang thanged demons of Gehennah screaming out to his dead bureauocrat god's for a relief that will never come" red light camera tickets. (the afore mentoned quote shamelessly stolen from the Onion and twisted to mine own particular needs) That however isin't the end of it. I bought ten pounds of pork ribs on sale for a buck a pound. I was going to cook them saturday night, but apparently my mom had thrown out my commercial size roasting pan (at least she told me this). So I had the joy of having to spend two and a half hours and a quarter of a tank of gas travelling to six or seven different locations looking for a roasting pan big enough for two slabs of pork ribs. No joy. The only one even close cost a hundred bucks through Macy's. I get home and my mom finds the roasting pan from where she "squirreled it away" but by this time, It's too late to start something cooking, so I have to wait until sunday. Sunday morning, I boot my X Box 360, and.. It doesent boot. I spend the next four hours arguing with five different indian technical support agents about their wanting to charge me a hundred dollars to repair my console because it is "out of warranty" despite my having only played it for three hundred hours since its purchase in July of 2007. By this time, I had had it. I have since crossed the border of red boiling anger and am now perusing the gift shops and bistros of the cold calmness of something that is angrier then that, something colder, more permanant and lasting, something black that slithers into your chest and stays there as inpenetrable and monolithic as a glacier, or maybe an altar of some long dead evil god that requires the blood sacrifice of badly trained Indian staffers who disintrestedly read from a script. There isint an english word for what I was feeling. I fired off the following letter to X Box 360 support: Quote:
So how was all of your weekends? |
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