To: You Know Who You Are
From: Tech Support
Re: The Big Conspiracy
We, the united agencies of Internet Technical Support are ready to come clean. What follows is the absolute, uncoditional truth.
It’s always our fault.
Yes, that’s correct. It’s always our fault.
When you can’t get your e-mail, it’s our fault, not yours.
When you get disconnected, it’s our fault, not the fact that you have a nameless ten-dollar modem.
When you can’t browse, it’s our fault, yet irrelevant because the chances are good that you won’t see the same thing as anyone else because none of the browsers obey the damn laws of WC3!
When you’ve been deactivated, it’s our fault, not yours for not paying a bill that you know you were about to receive and/or did receive and then either forgot or ignored.
When you can’t get your mail from another Internet Provider, it’s THEIR fault, not yours. When that Internet Provider calls ours, then it’s our fault because we didn’t help their customers so they can have a nice uninterupted game of Quake III.
When you can’t get Freecell working, it’s our fault, even though you can be sharpening your skills by purchasing a fifty-five cent deck of cards and playing the game yourself rather than simulating playing the game yourself.
When your computer won’t shut down, it’s our fault, not Microsoft’s for putting out an Operating System (take your pick) that eats up system resources to the point where your computer has the inability to calculate exactly how much of said resources have been eaten up.
When your computer won’t boot, it’s our fault, not yours for not realizing you need to TAKE THE GOD DAMN FLOPPY DISK OUT OF THE FREAKIN’ DISK DRIVE BEFORE YOU TURN ON THE GOD DAMN COMPUTER!
When there’s nothing good on TV, it’s our fault, not the cable company for not providing the channels with quality entertaining, or the station managers of the channels you do receive for not programming said quality entertainment.
When the microwave undercooks your burrito, it’s our fault, not yours for not realizing that your blasting meat with radiation you freakin’ retard.
When it burns when you urinate, it’s our fault, not yours for not taking the necessary precautions when enganging in intimate and drunken activities with something you’ll run away from in the morning as if your ass is on fire.
When you start seeing little pink Christina Aguiler monsters, it’s our fault, not yours for realizing that you shouldn’t take the dum-dums lolipops being handed out by the half-naked guy known as “Mooby Dave” on the street corner on the funky side of town.
When we are sarcastic, it’s our fault for thinking we’ll have stable careers in computing.
By reading this document fully, you, the customer, agree that we, your redundant saviours, have the right to run you down with our cheap-ass cars on multiple occsssions.
Thank you,
And it’s all our fault.