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Wherein I Usher In The New Year. Apparently as a Prostitute. ( Epic <sob. )

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  • Wherein I Usher In The New Year. Apparently as a Prostitute. ( Epic <sob. )

    Holy *fark* people. I was braced for New Years. I knew it would be bad, but dear lord.




    This Is How My Week Started
    ( I make a lot of jokes about these callers, but fscking hell, this guy was the entire punchline. The disturbing, creepy punchline. )

    Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
    SC: “<mumble>”
    Me: “I’m sorry, what was that?”
    SC: “huh?”
    Me: “May I help you?”
    SC: “Yes. <several moments of awkward dead silence>"
    Me: “…………what can I do for you?”
    SC: “<whisper> pants.”
    Me: “I’m sorry, what was that?”
    SC: “<mumble>”
    Me: “I don’t understand, sorry.”
    SC: “<mumble> hoarda”
    Me: “You’ll have to speak up a little, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

    Or more specifically, you are using the exact voice normally reserved for calling random women from a pay phone and asking them what they’re wearing while you touch yourself. Complete with heavy breathing. Which honestly makes this call rather unsettling. “Depraved lust” shouldn’t factor into the process of ordering clothing.


    SC: “<mumble>”
    Me: “What was that?”
    SC: “Or. Dar.”

    …..right-o. I’ll assume you mean “order”. I’ll also assume this is the first time you’ve spoken directly to another human being in several months who was not bound and gagged in your cellar.


    Me: “….Alright, what is your name please?”
    SC: “<mumble>”
    Me: “What, sorry?”
    SC: “J-I-M”

    Hello….Jim. I don’t mind honestly admitting you creep me out and strike me as the sort of person that keeps duct tape and handcuffs in his trunk. That in mind, I should tell you up front we sell neither so if that’s what this is about, I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere. Please don’t hurt me.


    Me: “Do you have a PO box number?”
    SC: “<mumble>”
    Me: “Sorry, what?”
    SC: “<whisper> Pants.”

    Sure, you laugh whenever I make a crack about callers and their obsession with pants on this line. You think its funny. But I’m not joking. I’m not exaggerating. This guy is whispering it to me. Whispering it. Lustily. These people are not jokes. They are real. They are terrifying. And they must be stopped before it is too late.


    Me: “…..what is your address please?”
    SC: “<mumble>”
    Me: “What is your address, please?”
    SC: “I want order pants.”

    We’ve established that. Trust me. I know what you want I’m just hoping we can get it to you before you do something to me. If you can tear yourself away from your….desires….for a moment and just answer a few simple questions I can get you the pants you so crave. Though I am immensely grateful that <client> does not have a retail store and I am not a cashier at it. Something tells me the only thing saving me right now is distance. If I were actually confronted by….whatever you are….in person, I’d be long gone by the time the police responded to the silent alarm. Stuffed in your trunk and on my way into an episode of Unsolved Mysteries.



    Me: “Yes, but what is your address please?”
    SC: "<mumble> by lake”
    Me: “...Alright, but what's the address please?”
    SC: “<mumble>”
    Me: “What was that sorry?”
    SC: “lelvin.”
    Me: “I don’t understand, sorry.”
    SC: “lelvin”
    Me: “.....Eleven?”
    SC: “One one.”
    Me: “Eleven? One one?”
    SC: “Yeah.”

    I’m starting to suspect I may require a banjo for direct communication.


    Me: “Alright, and your postal code please?”
    SC: “Huh?”
    Me: “Your postal code please?”
    SC: “I wanna order pants.”

    This is slowly moving from “desire” to “mental affliction”. Why do you want them so badly? They’re just clothes, man. It’s not that important. Let alone making it the focal point of your existence like this.


    Me: “Yes, but what is your postal code please?”
    SC: “What does that mean….”
    Me: “Its part of your address, so we know where to send your order.”
    SC: “<mumble> by the lake.”
    Me: “I still need a postal code for it though.”
    SC: “……………………………..”
    Me: “Hello?”
    SC: “Hello.”
    Me: “I need your postal code please, otherwise I can’t place an order for you.”
    SC: “Postal what?”
    Me: “Postal code.”
    SC: “I want order pants.”

    ……they’re your only friends, aren’t they? After the police find my shoe on your property they’re going to search the place and find nothing but pants everywhere. Pants with buttons sewed onto them to give them little faces. With open zippers for mouths. Propped up so they’re sitting on the furniture like real people. Dressed up in other clothes. Pants with pants on.


    Me: “I can’t place an order for you without a postal code.”
    SC: “<almost a postal code but not quite>”
    Me: “…..xxx xxx?”
    SC: “Yah”

    Postal codes do not work that way. You’ve got the rudimentary form down. But it’s letter number letter, number letter number. You’re close. But you’re missing the specifics. The fine details.



    Me: “That’s not a valid postal code.”
    SC: “Postal what?”
    Me: “I need a postal code for your address, otherwise I can’t place an order for you.”
    SC: “Uh, my town.”
    Me: “I need a postal code for it.”
    SC: “…………………18.”

    …..18?



    Me: “……do you have a postal code?
    SC: “Yes.”
    Me: “What is it please?”
    SC: “………pants.”

    Dude, seriously, what fsck is this about? Why are you so desperate? Level with me here. It’s ok, you can talk to me. What happened? Something bad happened, didn’t it? You’re scared. Scared they’ll find out. Find out what happened to her. So who was it? Was it the track pants? Is that who broke your heart? Or was it the yoga pants? That’s it, isn’t it. It was the yoga pants, wasn’t it? It’s always the yoga pants.

    You were having an argument, weren’t you? You got mad. You pushed her. She fell. Her seam ripped. You got scared. You panicked and buried her out in the woods. Now you need to order another pair ASAP to replace her. The other pants are starting to ask questions. It’s only a matter of time before they figure out the truth and turn you in.



    Me: “….what, sorry?”
    SC: “Pants.”
    Me: “You can’t place an order without a postal code.”
    SC: “Forget it. <click>”

    And I’m going to end up buried right alongside her at this rate, aren’t I?







    As If That Was The End
    ( The universe is not that kind )

    Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
    SC: “Yeah.”

    Hello again, Jim.

    Me: “Did you find your postal code?”
    SC: “Huh?”
    Me: “Do you have your postal code now?
    SC: “Yeah.”
    Me: “What is it, please?”
    SC: “…………….paper.”
    Me: “…..I’m sorry, what?”
    SC: “Paper.”
    Me: “…..paper? I need your postal code.”
    SC: “……………………….xxxx.”

    Women's Jean Shorts? Really? That’s what this is about? But they were such sweet hearts! You monster. What have you done?

    .......wait a sec. You seriously are trying to order women's clothing aren't you?


    Me: “I need your postal code, otherwise you can’t place an order.”
    SC: “<heavy breathing>”
    Me: “………..”
    SC: “<heavy breathing>……forget it.”

    Yeeeeep, I’m a dead man. If someone would be so kind as to swing by my place, pick up my cat and drop it off at my mom’s house with your condolences, that would be great.





    Checkers

    SC: “I wanna play checkers online.”

    Right….ok. First of all: A) You have the wrong number. B) ….you want to play checkers online? Checkers? At 2am? Man, what a wild and crazy life you must lead. Be careful there, I mean checkers? Daaaamn. Gateway drug you know. Yeah, sure, first its just a little checkers here and there. Nothing big. You can handle it. Next thing you know you’re sitting up at 3am playing Chess man, Chess. With an entire glass of Nestea on your desk. Do you want that? Huh? Nestea.

    What will your family think?



    Me: “Sorry, you have the wrong number.”
    SC: “Oh, I’ll call back later.”

    ……what? Why? Why would you say that? It’s not magically going to become the right number later. I don’t pass this phone number off to a totally different company at dawn when our company has to return to its coffin.




    Move South

    Ok, seriously, maybe it’s time to stop spending so much money on Nike and start saving up some money so you can move. Yes you. Ye whose entire population is calling one by one to place one item orders that barely cost more than the $50 it takes to ship them there. I have seen you on Google Earth. In a region so remote that even the coastguard can only get to you by ship once a year when the ice thaws enough. And they can only get there once. As in, only one ship ever comes by and only once a year. Apparently, it brings pop and only pop. Why this is I don’t know, but who am to question the Canadian coast guard? Seriously though, once a year. You only get Coke Zero once a year. How do you people survive?

    Cold? Sure I can deal with that. Polar Bears? Ok, well…..that really sucks but I can hide inside and pray. No Coke Zero? Fuck that, get me back on the plane.




    He Really Meant It

    SC: “I have a computer.”

    Congratulations. Didn’t I talk to you 3 hours ago or so?


    SC: “I wanna play checkers online.”

    You have a problem, my boy.





    Jack, Son Of Jim


    SC: “Can I order a hat?”

    …you sound……distinctly underage.


    Me: “How old are you?”
    SC: “7, er, I mean 19”

    Mhmm.


    Me: “Somehow, I doubt that.”
    SC: “The hat is red. On 6 page.”
    Me: “I’m afraid I can’t place an order for you, do you have a parent there that can place this for you?”
    SC: “Yes.”
    Me: “Can I speak with them then?”
    SC: “Uh.....<few seconds of silence>....Hello? Can I order a hat? This is my son’s dad.”
    Me: “No its not.”

    Trust me here kid, you’re 7 years old. If you try to make your voice deeper you sound exactly like a 7 year old trying to make his voice deeper. Not like an adult. Also, bonus points for the bemusing statement “This is my son’s dad”.



    SC: “Yeah……<yelled to background> Dad! Come here!…………………………..Hello? Can I order?”
    Me: “You’re still just changing your voice.”

    Look here, Squirtle, this isn’t going to work. I applaud your creative attempts at deception, but your plan is ill conceived. I know that, given the line you’re calling on, you’re probably use to adults that aren’t precisely what one would call the sharpest tools in the shed. But I would caution you that such grownups are actually a regional anomaly and not the status quo. I wish I could offer some advice. You’re still young after all. You may have a fighting chance, though I fear genetics may have already dealt you a terrible blow. Sadly though, I have not yet pinpointed exactly what goes on up there that erodes the mind so and instills such terrible cravings.

    The only advice I can offer is don’t drink the water. Just to be on the safe side. Wait for the Coastguard.





    Jack, Son Of Jim II

    Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
    SC: “Yes”

    Hello again, Squirtle. Wow, has it been 12 years already? My how time flies! I could have sworn it was all of 5 minutes since your last call. Man, I haven’t aged a day either! So either you’re demonstrating your dull witted lineage by trying this again, or I’m the Highlander.



    Me: “…you’re going to have to get an actual grown up to call. I can’t place an order for you.”
    SC: “………ummmm……I’ll call…….ehh……nevermind.”

    And here I was looking forward to a glorious and unending life of sword fighting in dingy parking lots.



    Proclaimations

    Ahhhh yes, New Years Eve. Aka Night Of The Drunk Dialer. Even getting down town was an adventure onto itself. With numerous yahoos, strange proclamations and at least one arrest ( Protip: Transit cops don’t like it when you hold a Skytrain door open long enough to shut down the entire system ).

    Though I would politely request that you don’t step on the Skytrain and immediately scream “I WANT TO RIDE THE NOODLE”. As that leads to nothing but an ocean of blank stares. I do not know what the noodle is, nor why you would wish to board it. I’m also fairly sure I don’t want to know the answers to either of those questions. Also, to answer the inquiry you shrieked upon exiting the station which I believe was: “OH MY GOD ITS SO COLD WHY IS IT SO COLD WHAT THE HELL?!?!” the answer is A) It’s December and B) You’ve wisely chosen to wear a handkerchief for a skirt. I’m impressed this didn’t strike you as a bad idea the moment you opened the door of your home and stepped outside. But I guess you had some sort of whisky based insulation at the start of your journey.




    Marinated

    SC: “Hey….”
    Me: “Hi.”
    SC: “Uhhh….I need uh….my outshid glass…fixed.”

    My, you’re just like a big drunk Teletubby, aren’t you?


    Me: “Do you have an account with us?”
    SC: “My….outshid glash”
    Me: “Do you have an account with us?”
    SC: “No I do not.”
    Me: “Just to let you know, the minimal call out this early then is $xxx."
    SC: “Really?”

    Yes, really. I know, that’s quite a bit of beer money. But if you want a restoration company to come out at 2am on a stat holiday, you're going to have to pony up.


    Me: “Yes, its 2a. So it’s still afterhours rates.”
    SC: “…………………………………………are yoush serious?”
    Me: “Yes.”
    SC: “I understash. Ma stupid idiotsih. They broke the window.”

    Those would be in the ones in the background that just said, and I quote: “Rsha fanglish saish a dick!” I take it? You should probably keep a better eye on Tipsy and Drinky Winky.


    SC: “I don’t know how to do it…….the only thing that was broken was the first window, not the second window. The first window.”

    ..Right. The first window, not the second window. Second windows are the expensive ones after all. What does “Aguasdhu guyah aduyaha duhh” mean by the way? I’m not overly fluent in Teletubby to begin with. But it doesn’t sound like they hold their liquor that well.


    SC: “My landlordish gonna come here and hesh not gonna like a broken window.”

    He’s probably not going to like one guy passed out faced down in your toilet and the other guy butt naked eating Fruit Loops out of the kitchen sink with a mixing spoon either.




    Marinated II

    SC: “Hey”
    Me: “Hi”
    SC: “My insidish glass is broken. But ma outside glass is…….but uh…….how much would it cosh…it’s like the bubble glash.”

    Ah yes, bubble glash. Very popular you know. Luckily we keep quite a bit of it in stock.


    Me: “Didn’t I speak with you about 20 minutes ago?”
    SC: “I thought I called the other number.”
    Me: “This is <company>.”
    SC: “Uh…..yer not their emergency line?”
    Me: “Yes I am.”
    SC: "I’m sorry, I thought I called <company>.”
    Me: “…you did.”

    Really dude, at this point you don’t a window fixed. You need a stomach pump.


    SC: “So how mush is….uh…”
    Me: “It would be $xxx.”
    SC: “Ok……uh……………..harsh for me to say but yesh. Can you show up?”
    Me: “Do you have a valid credit card?”
    SC: “Uhhh……only problehs ish I only have cash.”

    Honestly, even if we did take cash I’m pretty sure the repair guy wouldn’t want to take your cash after bearing witness to your house. Not unless he had the foresight to bring gloves and a ziplock bag anyhow.


    Me: “I’m sorry, we only accept payment by credit card at this hour.”
    SC: “My landlorsh is going to be pissed off.”

    Well, look on the bright side. It’s amazing you went this long without being evicted to begin with. So you should thank your lucky stars you got this much time to begin with. I’m sure there’s a construction site somewhere you can squat at in the mean time.



    Drunk Dialing

    Me: “Good evening, <blatantly not a cab>”
    SC: “Hi, can I get a taxi to <address>”
    Me: “You have the wrong number.”
    SC: “Huh?”
    Me: “You have the wrong number.”
    SC: “I need a cab to <address>.”
    Me: “You. Have. The. Wrong. Number.”
    SC: “Oh.”

    And so it begins. An alcohol fueled onslaught of tipsy cabana monkeys desperately trying to operate a keypad to obtain transportation. Words barely penetrate the haze of Jack Daniels clings to them. Only repetition and slow, deliberate enunciation can possibly save me at this point.



    Wild & Crazy

    SC: “Yeah I was just watching some of your guys DVDs here. Do you guys have the rest of Nash Bridges?”

    …first of all, we have nothing to do with DVDs whatsoever which should have been blatantly obvious from the "tech support" portion of my answering phrase. Second of all, Nash Bridges? Really? You’re up in the dead of night on New Year’s Eve watching Nash Bridges? And you're not even stoned? Truly yours is a blessed life.



    I Don't Think So

    Me: “Good evening, <company tech support>”
    SC: “Hello?”
    Me: “Hi.”
    SC: “Happy New Year!!!!!”
    Me: “….yes, can I help you?”
    SC: “Hi, dad!”
    Me: “…..you so have the wrong number.”
    SC: “Uh.”

    You have tragically misdialed. Either that or I had a drunken one night stand when I was 6 that I'm not able to recall. I think door #1 sounds far more plausible all things considered.



    I Still Don't Think So

    Me: “Good evening, <company tech support>”
    SC: “Oh….....uh, wrong number.”

    Correct. I’m glad you paid attention this time and we don’t have to resolve this by going on Maury Povich.




    Meet Jackie

    I’d like to introduce you to Jackie. Well, I don’t like doing it. But her presence must be noted if only to warn future generations. Jackie lives at one the buildings <client> owns and Jackie is locked out. For some reason, Jackie thought this was a police matter and has called the police to assist her. Jackie apparently causes quite a few police matters as the Constable indicated this is the 6th time they’ve been at this building this evening thanks to Jackie. Jackie has already been pepper sprayed once at some point it already. Jackie is truly a fine, upstanding citizen.

    When the police called about Jackie, they decided that Jackie should probably be taken to a shelter for this evening as they can’t wait around for maintenance to come unlock her door. Plus Jackie is skunk ass drunk if her slurred blathering in the background is any indication. I assumed Jackie was taken somewhere she could be……wrung out. I was sadly mistaken.

    Another call some time later indicated Jackie was still prowling the area, terrifying residents. Having refused the kindness of the police officers. Who frankly were offering far more kindness out of the goodness of their hearts than Jackie deserves. Considering Jackie has already done something to get pepper sprayed once. Now Jackie has banged on her neighbour’s door and woken them up, demanding they call us for her. Which they have. They were unimpressed with this entire scenario. They also elaborated in vivid detail as to the exact behavior of Jackie. Who was transferred to another suite in the building so her original suite could be renovated to undo her presence. But decided to come back to her original empty suite this evening and throw a huge party because hey, why would she trash her new suite when the keys to her old one might still work.

    But alas, there is nothing I can do for Jackie even if I was so motivated. The maintenance guy isn’t driving all the way out there for Jackie. As Jackie neglected to tell anyone her last name and no one will let Jackie use their phone, because Jackie has a personality that requires the application of pepper spray to stay civil.

    So Jackie is still out there. Prowling the night. With Vancouver PD visit #7 surely looming in her immediate future.



    And Again

    Me: “Good evening, <office>”
    SC: “Can I have a cab to <address>?”
    Me: “You have the wrong number.”
    SC: “…………………….”
    Me: “…Hello? You have the wrong number.”
    SC: “<address>.”
    Me: “You. Have. The. Wrong. Number.”
    SC: “Oh, ok.”

    How many repetitions does it take to get through the skull of a Tootsie Pop? A good question, let’s find out! A-one, a-two, a-three….a three!



    Why Do You Do This?

    Me: “Good evening, <company>, how may I help you?”
    SC: “Uh, is the sale that’s on the TV?”
    Me: “No, you have the wrong number.”
    SC: “Oh, because I ordered something two weeks ago and it hasn’t arrived yet a-“

    No, no, no, no. There is no “because” in this conversation. You don’t get to use a “because”. You get an “Oh”, a “Sorry” a “Bye” and maybe a “Fuck!” at the beginning and that’s it. “Because” does not and should not factor into this at any point from any sort of rational mind. Why are you telling me this? It has no bearing on me. I can’t help you find your order. I don’t even know what you ordered. I don’t want to know what you ordered.

    I also didn’t identify myself as a bartender, therapist or therapist bartender, so I certainly don’t have the slightest shred of interest in hearing about your inane troubles. I would kindly advise you to stop now while you’re ahead. My caring is limited and most of it is invested in handling calls that actually did dial the right number. So if you’re hoping for any sort of sympathy, I’m just going to make you feel worse at the end of this. Turn back now. I can do naught but ruin what little happiness you’re clinging to in the face of your missing George Foreman Grill.



    .....

    Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
    SC: “Is this <phone sex line>?”
    Me: “No…no its not”
    SC: “Is this 1-800-xxx-xxxx?”
    Me: “…..this is <company>, you’re calling the wrong number.”
    SC: “Oh, are you sure?”

    I'm pretty damn sure, trust me.

    I knew I would regret Googling that number, but I couldn’t resist. It’s only 99 cents a minute too! One on one conversations with real students, housewives and working girls in your area! You know, seeing as I’m not a real student, housewife or......“working girl”, I’m curious as to why you persisted in your disbelief past my initial denial. As it raises some rather unsettling questions. Did you think I was a “working girl” somehow? Were you just holding out hope that maybe I was just playing hard to get? That maybe, just maybe you could get a spanking out of this anyway?

    I’ve been mistaken for many things on these lines at night, but “working girl” is a new one I must admit. I can't say I'm precisely flattered.



    Not Touching That One
    ( This is the message desk for a travel agency )

    SC: “Have you ever cruised yourself?”

    ……no, but I think I know a number I can refer you too.








    annnnnnd rest.
    Last edited by Gravekeeper; 01-03-2011, 04:06 PM.

  • #2
    Mumble, mumble, mumble, whisper: "Pants."
    To seek it with thimbles, to seek it with care;
    To pursue it with forks and hope;
    To threaten its life with a railway share;
    To charm it with forks and hope!

    Comment


    • #3
      Wow the first guy. I'm suddenly thankful for my students. At least they know the zip code.

      Just...how much drinking do you have to do to get through your job GK?
      My NaNo page

      My author blog

      Comment


      • #4
        Ouch... that 1st one. It was reminiscent of the Tim Koshem saga. They are undoubtedly kin..
        Last edited by BaristaTrav; 01-03-2011, 05:03 PM.
        I will never go to school!

        Comment


        • #5

          Monday Monday, can't trust that day...

          Hammily Foam Eeepening with GraveKeeper!
          (Monday Night at the Frights)

          checklist:
          1) Mind in well padded container
          2) Small children at Grammies
          3) Pets leashed and muzzled so they can't flee into wilderness... or bite me!
          4) Computer behind spray shield
          I am not an a**hole. I am a hemorrhoid. I irritate a**holes!
          Procrastination: Forward planning to insure there is something to do tomorrow.
          Derails threads faster than a pocket nuke.

          Comment


          • #6
            Quoth Gravekeeper View Post
            Holy *fark* people. I was braced for New Years. I knew it would be bad, but dear lord.
            Oh Gravekeeper, I do feel sorry for the dregs of humanity that you have to deal with on a daily basis. I do. Sincerely. Even though I'm laughing so loud at your reports that my Evil Overlord now thinks I've gone off the deep end.

            Me: “Sorry, you have the wrong number.”
            SC: “Oh, I’ll call back later.”
            Oh. My. Gawd. I am now so boggled I can't think of any other way to respond to this one.


            Me: “Good evening, <company tech support>”
            SC: “Oh….....uh, wrong number.”
            So there is hope for your sanity.

            Me: “Good evening, <company>, how may I help you?”
            SC: “Uh, is the sale that’s on the TV?”
            Me: “No, you have the wrong number.”
            SC: “Oh, because I ordered something two weeks ago and it hasn’t arrived yet a-“
            I spoke too soon.

            Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
            SC: “Is this <phone sex line>?”
            Me: “No…no its not”
            SC: “Is this 1-800-xxx-xxxx?”
            Me: “…..this is <company>, you’re calling the wrong number.”
            SC: “Oh, are you sure?”
            Gravekeeper: Hello. My name is Peggy.
            I wondered when that credit card commercial would make the SCs start thinking male CSRs are female.
            Sorry, my cow died so I don't need your bull

            Comment


            • #7
              Damn. Wow. The pants guy....OK, I've got nothing. I'm shuddering over here. I can feel the weird all the way over on the other side of the continent. Ick.

              He’s probably not going to like one guy passed out faced down in your toilet and the other guy butt naked eating Fruit Loops out of the kitchen sink with a mixing spoon either.
              Could be worse. He could be inhaling them through a straw.

              You have my sincerest sympathies. This past week was obviously way too much crazy, even considering your usual customers.

              Still though
              When you start at zero, everything's progress.

              Comment


              • #8
                Ah, it's good to see our karmic bonds still firmly in place despite our differences in employment. I called an inmate Jigglypuff just 3 days ago.

                Also, this is why I don't like reboots. First they break canon by making Jason Voorhees run, and now for the sequel apparently he can talk and is ordering pants.
                Last edited by Kara; 01-03-2011, 05:55 PM.
                "You are loved" - Plaidman.

                Comment


                • #9
                  This was discussed at length in the chat room. Drinks were sprayed there as well.

                  Rapscallion

                  Comment


                  • #10
                    fijaij... fnaooanio

                    Pants?



                    I think I would kill them all!
                    "I've put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that's the only way of insuring one's immortality."
                    - James Joyce

                    Comment


                    • #11
                      All I can say, is those must be some special sort of pants. Dang.

                      Comment


                      • #12
                        Pants.....

                        /runs away
                        Knowledge is power. Power corrupts. Study hard. Be evil.

                        "I never said I wasn't a horrible person."--Me, almost daily

                        Comment


                        • #13
                          are you my...pants?
                          *tilts head*
                          Oh wook at teh widdle babeh dwaggin! How cyuuute babeh dwag-AAAAAAAUUUGGGHHHH! *nom*
                          http://jennovazombie.deviantart.com

                          Comment


                          • #14
                            OK, to get out of the subject of pants, I have this one question.

                            Why did the cops have to wait until call#7 to give Jackie a nice warm place to sleep for the night? One with bars?
                            They say that God only gives us what we can handle. Apparently, God thinks I'm a bad ass.

                            Comment


                            • #15
                              if it's not pants, it's hats; if it's neither of those, it's someone with a wrong number but too stubborn/stupid to acknowledge it.

                              the pain...oh god, the pain.

                              pants
                              look! it's ghengis khan!
                              Sorry, but while I can do many things, extracting heads from anuses isn't one of them. (so sayeth the irv)

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