…as badly as I want to punch the lady I’m currently listening to.
I just want to knock every tooth of your smarmy, condescending mouth, you fucking pustulant assmonkey. Who in the happy living hell told you you had a good voice for reading a telephone hold message? I’m going to have to go with the theory that you were hired specifically to get people to hang up, saving the customer service department from having to actually, you know, deal with customers.
Do you talk to people in real life the way you’ve been talking to me for the last…22 minutes, 18 seconds? I can’t imagine that you do – not if you’re still a breathing member of society.
If you were to say “Twenty dollars, unleaded” to a gas station attendant in the tone you’ve been talking to me, you’d get the nozzle anally inserted beforehand.
If you put the same amount of smarm into ordering a double tall mocha frappuccino that you put into telling me that you’re so happy I decided to continue to wait, you’d find yourself pulled over the counter and held upside down while your nostrils were filled with scalding hot coffee, all the while other customers cheering and stabbing you lifeless with pointily-gnawed biscotti.
24 minutes, 31 seconds. What a coincidence – not only is that how long I’ve been listening you spew your transparently fake pleasantries, it’s also how long I’d like to hold your head down in a vat filled with sulfuric acid and some sort of sulfuric acid-resistant piranha.
Gaaa! That voice! I want to slip into a pair of steel-toe Colorados and learn to tap-dance on your incisors! Then I want to pry open your toothless maw, fill your mouth with a combination of concrete and C4, and mail you to your parent company marked attention to whoever hired you, you grating fucking cunt, you!
It’s now the 29 minute, 11 second mark, and I don’t hear ultra-annoying fuckhole lady anymore – because they just fucking disconnected me. Dear God, I’m going to fucking pop.