Monday, August 04, 2003
Around 4am this last Saturday morning, I was abruptly awakened by a phone ringing. At first I didn't recognize it as my phone, as it so seldom rings at 4am. My neighbors upstairs had been tramping around all night, banging on walls and vacuuming floors, so I thought maybe it was theirs. (It turns out that they were moving out.) By the time I staggered out into the living room and realized it was my phone, the answering machine had picked up. There was a message: beep, beep, beep, beep, BEEEEEEEP! Some whack-ass tele-marketing computer had tracked down my new number -- like those robo-spiders in that crappy new Matrix movie. Sure enough, yesterday afternoon, I find another message on my machine: a pre-recorded, Mary Kay-voiced, fuck-you-in-the-ear sales pitch. Capitalist pigs -- they could at least hire some smarmy creep with a high school education to make their fucking calls. Reflexively, I deleted it, instead of figuring out who it was and adding their ass to my shit list. This is no way to wreck vengeance against your faceless enemies. Now I gotta sign up for that pain-in-the-ass, three hoops-and-a-note-from-your-doctor national do-not-call-list. God it would feel good to trip Brit Hume right now.
