I hate them.
With all the fury in my heart, body and soul, I hate them.
I want to hunt them down, strangle them, slowly, with garrotes made from zip strips, and watch the unutterable despair* in their eyes as they die. And then I want to flense the flesh from their bones, and grind the bones into a flour which I will use to make a bread to feed to all the scum-sucking Legislators who continue to eviscerate the various “Do Not Call” lists. What the fuck good is a do not call list that lets your political fundraiser, or push poll through to my emergency phone? Fuck you and your “telemarketing is bad, except where it benefits me” attitudes. When they pass legislation for a fucking “Do Not Call” list that means “Don’t fucking call this person or he will be given a hunting license for you, all your investors, and any lawyer you’ve done business with in the past ten years, asshole!” then I might relent and let them stop eating bread made from telemarketers. But until then, they’re just as culpable.
Why, you may ask, am I so exercised about an evil that has been dying off? That is more controlled and less of a bother than it had been in the past?
Well, my Mom is in the hospital. Because of that I’ve had to give out my cell phone number to a lot more people than I’d ever given it to in the past. In the past I had perhaps five people who knew my cell number, and who would have a legitimate reason for me to believe that if they called it, they needed to speak with me right now.
That is no longer true. The hospital, the insurance companies, the various case managers, and several other people all have my cell phone number - in case they need to contact me for things of vital importance, like, say permissions for life-saving medical treatments. Or to make sure that such treatments will get reimbursed.
I can no longer simply ignore anyone who calls me from a private name/private number.
I am furious that these spooge guzzling bottom-feeders have been interrupting my visits to my mother in the ICU because they haven’t got the fucking decency to tell me who the fuck they might be. I have a real need to keep track of a number of balloons that I have in the air, and a momentary interruption to deal with them is a reasonable distraction. Being told that my car’s warranty may have already expired does not meet any possible standard for interruption. I don’t care if I’m sitting at home, watching the filthy squirrels, thinking about how best to engage in mass biowarfare against the pestilent scourges against all sense, logic, nor even capability, that is still far more vital to me than the time it would take to answer the phone to have some pre-recorded message try to panic me by telling me that my car’s warranty is about to expire. Getting that same message in the ICU has me seeing red.
Being hit with a push-poll would be even worse, but at least with a cell phone that’s not sorted closely enough with respect to location to prove useful for local race push-polls, and McCain never thought he could take NY, anyways.
In short - when does the season on telemarketers begin?
*Remember they’re being choked to death - no chance to utter anything.
