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The Most Terrible Fanfic Ever
Sadly, due to an email glitch I have lost some of my chronicles this week. So partake only of what I have recovered thus far. ><
Hot Tips: Terrible Slash Fic Edition
You know. I have listened to your Prince Charles ranting for a couple of years now. It tends to follow rather predictable patterns and only seems to have about 5 or 6 different episodes that are broadcast as reruns year round. So I really wasn't expecting any deviation. And that, it seems, was my tragic error.
I was just tuning you out as I usually do. Letting you ramble on till you wound yourself out and had to go take another hit off the bong. But then you did something horrific. Something that came out of left field and struck my fragile, unsuspecting psyche broadside. Causing irreparable damage that even now I am trying to suppress.
I speak of course of that horrific moment, mid sentence, where you suddenly detoured into a tangent about furious Prince Charles x Hitler anal sex. Then, while my mind was suddenly recoiling you elaborated just to make sure that I knew Prince Charles was the catcher, not the pitcher. And that he liked it rough.
Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you dude? I'm not sure if that was just some utterly random psychotic episode, or if this has all been some sort of elaborate plot to spend 2 years lulling me into a false sense of security before you struck me down at my weakest.
Either way, thank you for that sweaty, grunting mental image. It should haunt me for a good 3 or 4 days at least.
The Very Best
Me: “And which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “I’m going to use Visi!”
I said “credit card” not “Pokemon”.
Hail To The King
Me: “And your last name please?”
SC: “Beavercrest”
Beavercrest, it’s almost sort of regal if you look at it from the standpoint of being desperately isolated hundreds of kilometers from civilization.
Me: “And your box number please?”
SC: “Box 1.”
It’s true! He is the King! That is why he won’t deem to speak with me directly. Instead grunting orders from the background to you, his faithful servant. The King does not lower himself to ordering his own pants after all.
Still, PO Box 1. The first and most important box any mere mortal can possess in the arctic. The sign of ruler ship. Tell me, how did he come to rule over all the eye can see ( which consists entirely of snow and/or rock in every direction )? Was PO Box 1 frozen to a mighty stone in the center of the village and you crowned him the boy king after you pulled it out?
So what does his Majesty wish? Pants? Hats? Sunglasses that play MP3s except he doesn’t own a computer and does not even know what one is?
Me: “and the item number please?”
SC: “xxxx”
Me: “Alright, what size?”
SC: “Umm…..one sec…….HEY CHECK YER SHOES!!”
…..far be it for me to question the King’s wisdom, but would not this have been fairly relevant information to gather beforehand? I don’t mean to diminish his importance or anything, but to be bluntly honest the King’s influence barely extends 10 paces outside of your ramshackle arctic village and we here in the civilized and much warmer world do not know of him by name. So we certainly are not aware of his shoe size.
Contempt
SC: “Is there any way to get random ticket numbers instead of consecutive?”
Not this again. No, no there isn’t. Stop asking. It makes no statistically difference. Your odds are not any better or any worse if you don’t have random numbers generated by some sort of elaborate voodoo algorithm that began with you naked in the shower applying Squeezee Cheeze to only one side of 10D6. Then pitching them into the hallway and seeing what numbers come up after the dog finishes licking it off while you cheer her on with a rousing rendition of Bling-Bling.
SC: “How did they come by that? Why do they come by that? Someone should look into it!”
Yes, it is clearly it is a conspiracy directly solely against your dog, Madam Cleo.
SC: “It must be more then me that’s disappointed to get 4 tickets and if one ticket loses they all lose pretty well. Maybe statistically it’s not different.”
EXACTLY. So you do understand. Then why do you persist with your pointless superstitions and dog cheese oracle?
SC: “But it would make me feel better.”
Oh, well. I’m sorry the probability of reality hurts your feelings. Your daily life must be a symphony of misery as everything around you behaves exactly as the laws of the universe dictate.
They're Listening....Unfortunately
SC: “And my number is xxx-xxx-x”
Ok, stop stop stop…just, stop for a moment. There is something here I need to address. I have, on many occasions, cracked jests about the perceived educational level of callers on this line in the dead of night. Often times I have referenced things such as Sesame Street and suggested it as an educational tool that you might use to expand your mental horizons. However, those were jokes. I was kidding. You do not actually have to do that.
So if you could please be so kind as to turn your tv down, because I can hear Elmo in the background and his singing, while endearing, is a bit too loud.
Hot Tips
Right, new plan: We need to build a Berlin Wall between Canada and America so that we can get the Queen off our money. Because you can’t prove or disprove the existence of God. It’s a philosophical question and should be left to philosophers. Just like you can’t prove or disprove that Prince Charles is descended from Jack the Ripper. That too is a philosophical question ( apparently ) and should be left to philosophers.
Yay!
Me: “Alright, so your total is going to come t-“
SC: “How long will it take?”
Me: “It will take about 2 weeks to arrive, and will come t-“
SC: “Alright, thanks.”
Me: “Would you like the total?”
SC: “Nah.”
….alright, far be it for me to criticize your financial planning abilities. Again. But when shopping the correct plan of approach is “I should know how much everything costs so that I can ensure I have enough money to pay for it” not “OH BOY! I LOVE SUPRISES!”.
...er
Me: “Alright, and the item number please?”
SC: “It’s…um….its a laser or something like that.”
....a laser. I hate to disappoint but unless they've weaponized the summer fashion line up I don’t think it’s our catalog you’re looking in.
........
SC: “Yeah, I'm doing my taxes and I need an invoice from you guys.”
....right. It is 4am. Do you realise that? If you haven't realized it: It's 4am. If you have realized it: Go fuck a tree till daybreak.
You Are A God Damn Idiot
( This man is attempting to install a door + frame. Sadly, because it came from the client's store, I must render general assistance. )
SC: “I got a few questions about this door.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “I’m lookin’ at the directions and….uh….right off the bat it says do not mount on brickwork. What is brick work?”
It’s….brick….work. I’m not sure how to explain it any simpler than that. Is your house made out of bricks? Then you have a brick work and should abort this plan of action immediately.
Me: “Is your door framed with brick?”
SC: “I got…uh…trim, it’s a trailer' home.”
……wait, you live in a trailer, and you’re actually unsure whether or not it is constructed out of bricks? You know, a cursory mental pass at this dilemma would have negated the need for this question all together. A mobile home made out of brick is decidedly immobile. In fact since there is a distinct possibility your home may have a trailer hitch I’d say it’s a pretty safe bet you can ignore the word “brick” all together.
Me: “You wouldn’t have brick work, so there shouldn’t be any problems.”
SC: “Uhhh….alright than. Yer a real lotta help.”
Me: “Did you have any other questions?”
SC: “Well, uh, just, the directions don’t make no sense.”
I’m sorry, but I can only help you with the installation of the door. I can’t help you elevate your grade 2 reading level nor can I in any way assist you in bringing any sort of basic comprehension or mental clarity to the world around you. Which is obviously far beyond your understanding. However, I do commend you and your ability to operate a telephone. That must have been a proud day for you and I am happy for you.
SC: “I still don’ know what to do with this thing and I read the directions, and the pictures don’t look like nothin’ in ma house.”
As I pointed out already, this is probably because your home has a trailer hitch.
Me: “It should fit any standard door way. If it’s a standard sized door way on the home it should fit.”
SC: “It says up to 36 inchs, aight.”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “When I bought this, the guy said dis was fer a double door.”
Wait….you….bought a double door for your trailer?
Me: “You have a double door kit?”
SC: “Yeah, that was the most expensive one he had and I wanted a nice one.”
......well, on the upside, simply having it inside your place is probably doubling the value of your home.
Me: “The double door kit is for a double door, that’s a really wide kit. Do you have a double door or is it a standard door width?”
SC: “I don’t know. What’s a standard door width?”
Me: “Between 24 to 36 inches”
SC: “Uhh.......Hold on, lemme measure it”
Measuring it only occurred to you now did it? It seems like that little morsel of information would have been rather important before you went to store.
SC: “It is…..uh…….it is 30 inches”
I think I know why you’re having trouble installing it now.
Me: "That door kit is 72 inches wide. It won't fit a standard single door like that."
SC: “Well den, you need to modify yer instructions and make em more clear!!”
Of course, you’re entirely correct. We need to get right to that and modify the double door kit instructions so they more clearly show trailer park dwelling rednecks how they can install a double door into a single door frame. It shouldn’t be too hard to rewrite them. It’d really only need to come with a marking pencil, duct tape and a picture of a chainsaw.
Oh God
SC: “They wanna arrest me. Somebody said I uttered threats to them, it was one of my baby mommas, right.”
There are so many things contained in that sentence that make me weep for the future of our species that I’m not sure where to start. Right…let’s see.
First of all, I didn’t know anyone used the term “baby momma” outside of the set of Jerry Springer. The very fact you have seriously uttered these words to me has immediately made me flag you as a person worthy of scorn and ridicule. Luckily, I am quite talented at both.
Second, and perhaps even more terrifying, you used it as a plural. A plural. Indicating not one, but multiple “baby mommas”. Exactly how many children do you have and how many females are they spread across? Are you sure the RCMP are arresting you for uttering threats? It may just be a front for the appointment they made for you at the veterinarian’s office.
Hot Tips
SC: “You know someone told me you said something nasty about Prince Charles and you hurt his feelings and now he wants an apology or he’s going to tell his mother on you. We wouldn't want that would we?”
No, we wouldn't. Would we, Mr Flibble?
SC: “I don’t know what it is you said about him but you made him cry and he wants an apology.”
Me: “…..alright.”
SC: “Ok?”
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “Thanks for listening.”
Me: “No problem.”
SC: “Bye”
So this is all my fault now? You can call him a pedophile, a serial killer, the anti-Christ and Hitler’s lovetoy but if I jokingly insinuate he married a horse that hurt’s his feeling? What the heck? That’s totally not fair. You’ve been bashing on him for years but once I make a crack all of a sudden he’s crying? And now he’s going to go tattle on me to the Queen?
Why that little wanker.
Annnnnd rest.
Hot Tips: Terrible Slash Fic Edition
You know. I have listened to your Prince Charles ranting for a couple of years now. It tends to follow rather predictable patterns and only seems to have about 5 or 6 different episodes that are broadcast as reruns year round. So I really wasn't expecting any deviation. And that, it seems, was my tragic error.
I was just tuning you out as I usually do. Letting you ramble on till you wound yourself out and had to go take another hit off the bong. But then you did something horrific. Something that came out of left field and struck my fragile, unsuspecting psyche broadside. Causing irreparable damage that even now I am trying to suppress.
I speak of course of that horrific moment, mid sentence, where you suddenly detoured into a tangent about furious Prince Charles x Hitler anal sex. Then, while my mind was suddenly recoiling you elaborated just to make sure that I knew Prince Charles was the catcher, not the pitcher. And that he liked it rough.
Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you dude? I'm not sure if that was just some utterly random psychotic episode, or if this has all been some sort of elaborate plot to spend 2 years lulling me into a false sense of security before you struck me down at my weakest.
Either way, thank you for that sweaty, grunting mental image. It should haunt me for a good 3 or 4 days at least.
The Very Best
Me: “And which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “I’m going to use Visi!”
I said “credit card” not “Pokemon”.
Hail To The King
Me: “And your last name please?”
SC: “Beavercrest”
Beavercrest, it’s almost sort of regal if you look at it from the standpoint of being desperately isolated hundreds of kilometers from civilization.
Me: “And your box number please?”
SC: “Box 1.”
It’s true! He is the King! That is why he won’t deem to speak with me directly. Instead grunting orders from the background to you, his faithful servant. The King does not lower himself to ordering his own pants after all.
Still, PO Box 1. The first and most important box any mere mortal can possess in the arctic. The sign of ruler ship. Tell me, how did he come to rule over all the eye can see ( which consists entirely of snow and/or rock in every direction )? Was PO Box 1 frozen to a mighty stone in the center of the village and you crowned him the boy king after you pulled it out?
So what does his Majesty wish? Pants? Hats? Sunglasses that play MP3s except he doesn’t own a computer and does not even know what one is?
Me: “and the item number please?”
SC: “xxxx”
Me: “Alright, what size?”
SC: “Umm…..one sec…….HEY CHECK YER SHOES!!”
…..far be it for me to question the King’s wisdom, but would not this have been fairly relevant information to gather beforehand? I don’t mean to diminish his importance or anything, but to be bluntly honest the King’s influence barely extends 10 paces outside of your ramshackle arctic village and we here in the civilized and much warmer world do not know of him by name. So we certainly are not aware of his shoe size.
Contempt
SC: “Is there any way to get random ticket numbers instead of consecutive?”
Not this again. No, no there isn’t. Stop asking. It makes no statistically difference. Your odds are not any better or any worse if you don’t have random numbers generated by some sort of elaborate voodoo algorithm that began with you naked in the shower applying Squeezee Cheeze to only one side of 10D6. Then pitching them into the hallway and seeing what numbers come up after the dog finishes licking it off while you cheer her on with a rousing rendition of Bling-Bling.
SC: “How did they come by that? Why do they come by that? Someone should look into it!”
Yes, it is clearly it is a conspiracy directly solely against your dog, Madam Cleo.
SC: “It must be more then me that’s disappointed to get 4 tickets and if one ticket loses they all lose pretty well. Maybe statistically it’s not different.”
EXACTLY. So you do understand. Then why do you persist with your pointless superstitions and dog cheese oracle?
SC: “But it would make me feel better.”
Oh, well. I’m sorry the probability of reality hurts your feelings. Your daily life must be a symphony of misery as everything around you behaves exactly as the laws of the universe dictate.
They're Listening....Unfortunately
SC: “And my number is xxx-xxx-x”
Ok, stop stop stop…just, stop for a moment. There is something here I need to address. I have, on many occasions, cracked jests about the perceived educational level of callers on this line in the dead of night. Often times I have referenced things such as Sesame Street and suggested it as an educational tool that you might use to expand your mental horizons. However, those were jokes. I was kidding. You do not actually have to do that.
So if you could please be so kind as to turn your tv down, because I can hear Elmo in the background and his singing, while endearing, is a bit too loud.
Hot Tips
Right, new plan: We need to build a Berlin Wall between Canada and America so that we can get the Queen off our money. Because you can’t prove or disprove the existence of God. It’s a philosophical question and should be left to philosophers. Just like you can’t prove or disprove that Prince Charles is descended from Jack the Ripper. That too is a philosophical question ( apparently ) and should be left to philosophers.
Yay!
Me: “Alright, so your total is going to come t-“
SC: “How long will it take?”
Me: “It will take about 2 weeks to arrive, and will come t-“
SC: “Alright, thanks.”
Me: “Would you like the total?”
SC: “Nah.”
….alright, far be it for me to criticize your financial planning abilities. Again. But when shopping the correct plan of approach is “I should know how much everything costs so that I can ensure I have enough money to pay for it” not “OH BOY! I LOVE SUPRISES!”.
...er
Me: “Alright, and the item number please?”
SC: “It’s…um….its a laser or something like that.”
....a laser. I hate to disappoint but unless they've weaponized the summer fashion line up I don’t think it’s our catalog you’re looking in.
........
SC: “Yeah, I'm doing my taxes and I need an invoice from you guys.”
....right. It is 4am. Do you realise that? If you haven't realized it: It's 4am. If you have realized it: Go fuck a tree till daybreak.
You Are A God Damn Idiot
( This man is attempting to install a door + frame. Sadly, because it came from the client's store, I must render general assistance. )
SC: “I got a few questions about this door.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “I’m lookin’ at the directions and….uh….right off the bat it says do not mount on brickwork. What is brick work?”
It’s….brick….work. I’m not sure how to explain it any simpler than that. Is your house made out of bricks? Then you have a brick work and should abort this plan of action immediately.
Me: “Is your door framed with brick?”
SC: “I got…uh…trim, it’s a trailer' home.”
……wait, you live in a trailer, and you’re actually unsure whether or not it is constructed out of bricks? You know, a cursory mental pass at this dilemma would have negated the need for this question all together. A mobile home made out of brick is decidedly immobile. In fact since there is a distinct possibility your home may have a trailer hitch I’d say it’s a pretty safe bet you can ignore the word “brick” all together.
Me: “You wouldn’t have brick work, so there shouldn’t be any problems.”
SC: “Uhhh….alright than. Yer a real lotta help.”
Me: “Did you have any other questions?”
SC: “Well, uh, just, the directions don’t make no sense.”
I’m sorry, but I can only help you with the installation of the door. I can’t help you elevate your grade 2 reading level nor can I in any way assist you in bringing any sort of basic comprehension or mental clarity to the world around you. Which is obviously far beyond your understanding. However, I do commend you and your ability to operate a telephone. That must have been a proud day for you and I am happy for you.
SC: “I still don’ know what to do with this thing and I read the directions, and the pictures don’t look like nothin’ in ma house.”
As I pointed out already, this is probably because your home has a trailer hitch.
Me: “It should fit any standard door way. If it’s a standard sized door way on the home it should fit.”
SC: “It says up to 36 inchs, aight.”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “When I bought this, the guy said dis was fer a double door.”
Wait….you….bought a double door for your trailer?
Me: “You have a double door kit?”
SC: “Yeah, that was the most expensive one he had and I wanted a nice one.”
......well, on the upside, simply having it inside your place is probably doubling the value of your home.
Me: “The double door kit is for a double door, that’s a really wide kit. Do you have a double door or is it a standard door width?”
SC: “I don’t know. What’s a standard door width?”
Me: “Between 24 to 36 inches”
SC: “Uhh.......Hold on, lemme measure it”
Measuring it only occurred to you now did it? It seems like that little morsel of information would have been rather important before you went to store.
SC: “It is…..uh…….it is 30 inches”
I think I know why you’re having trouble installing it now.
Me: "That door kit is 72 inches wide. It won't fit a standard single door like that."
SC: “Well den, you need to modify yer instructions and make em more clear!!”
Of course, you’re entirely correct. We need to get right to that and modify the double door kit instructions so they more clearly show trailer park dwelling rednecks how they can install a double door into a single door frame. It shouldn’t be too hard to rewrite them. It’d really only need to come with a marking pencil, duct tape and a picture of a chainsaw.
Oh God
SC: “They wanna arrest me. Somebody said I uttered threats to them, it was one of my baby mommas, right.”
There are so many things contained in that sentence that make me weep for the future of our species that I’m not sure where to start. Right…let’s see.
First of all, I didn’t know anyone used the term “baby momma” outside of the set of Jerry Springer. The very fact you have seriously uttered these words to me has immediately made me flag you as a person worthy of scorn and ridicule. Luckily, I am quite talented at both.
Second, and perhaps even more terrifying, you used it as a plural. A plural. Indicating not one, but multiple “baby mommas”. Exactly how many children do you have and how many females are they spread across? Are you sure the RCMP are arresting you for uttering threats? It may just be a front for the appointment they made for you at the veterinarian’s office.
Hot Tips
SC: “You know someone told me you said something nasty about Prince Charles and you hurt his feelings and now he wants an apology or he’s going to tell his mother on you. We wouldn't want that would we?”
No, we wouldn't. Would we, Mr Flibble?
SC: “I don’t know what it is you said about him but you made him cry and he wants an apology.”
Me: “…..alright.”
SC: “Ok?”
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “Thanks for listening.”
Me: “No problem.”
SC: “Bye”
So this is all my fault now? You can call him a pedophile, a serial killer, the anti-Christ and Hitler’s lovetoy but if I jokingly insinuate he married a horse that hurt’s his feeling? What the heck? That’s totally not fair. You’ve been bashing on him for years but once I make a crack all of a sudden he’s crying? And now he’s going to go tattle on me to the Queen?
Why that little wanker.
Annnnnd rest.
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