Cars for Clunkers Dead?

In a moment of oh-shit-how-did-we-not-see-that-coming?, it's reported that the U.S. Government may suspend Obama's Cars for Clunkers program as early as TONIGHT. That means it would have ran for a whopping three days before the government realized that they fucked something up. Good job, Obama. What did you think would happen? Oh right, it doesn't matter, because I'm going to be footing the $100 million bill that's already been run up on this program. You sure brought a lot of "change" to America.

AT&T DSL (fuck them)

If you guys spend a lot of time online at Starbucks, you know that their WiFi hotspot services are owned and operated by AT&T DSL. One of the perks of being an AT&T home internet subscriber is free access to these hotspots at various locations across America... if you can do the right login dance.

As Lady Luck would have it on my last visit, Starbucks/AT&T insisted that my login credentials were incorrect. When I tried to use the password reset tool, it insisted that the page couldn't be found. Fantastic. Two hours of sitting at a Starbucks being furious and browsing the web on Pocket I.E. Pretty shitty.

... So I just need to figure it out at home, right? Well, not really... You see, when I went into my DSL modem settings, I noticed that there was no option to reset the password. Fair enough; I'm sure it's more secure for them to allow password changes only through their official records. Instead, upon trying to open a browser window, I was directed to AT&T's account configuration page. Perfect. The page requested my login information, and below the "password" field, there was the usual "Forgot Password?" link. I clicked the link, which took me to where I wanted to be: the password reset tool. After waiting five minutes for the thing to verify my computer, it gave me a message, in bold red letters, that I hadn't entered sufficient security information to verify my computer. Umm, what? Isn't that the whole point of the tool? I was asked for two things: my user name and my password. Then I was taken to this page precisely because I had forgotten the latter of the two. Strange glitch, I figured, and I clicked the provided link as directed. Can anybody guess where it took me? The first fucking page, where I was again instructed to enter my username and password. Here, of course, my only option was to again click the "Forgot Password?" link. And, being the trusting guy that I am, I wasted 15 minutes of my life going back and forth between these pages in the described sequence. Hey, AT&T: if I'm using the FORGOT PASSWORD TOOL to RESET MY FUCKING PASSWORD, that means I don't fucking HAVE IT.

... Of course it gets worse. I called in to AT&T High-Speed Internet Service Customer Support number. I waited for a few moments to let the robot know that I'm not Mexican. Then I listened carefully to the menu, as the recording notified me to do so because their "menu options had changed" (Changed? How has anybody memorized what it was BEFORE unless they'd called in a few billion times already? This message alone is indication that AT&T is doing some wrong...) Then I pressed the number 2 to indicate that I was a High-Speed Internet subscriber. Then I entered my phone number (A phone company that doesn't have caller-fucking-ID. Go figure.) Then I waited. No music played, though I'm not quite sure if that's a good or bad thing. A brief recording, saying,"please hold" played every 20 seconds (I counted). Then, after about 10 minutes, a recording stated,"Your call could not be completed. Please hang up and try again." Right, what was I thinking? I tried again. And again. And thus wasted another half hour of my life trying to get connected to the fucking internet.

I finally stopped playing by the rules and started mashing random menu buttons (minus the one asking if I need assistance in Spanish) until I was finally connected to a lady who could help me. In her defense, she had me up and running with a new password within 2 minutes, and it's not her fault the menus blow. But man, what a nightmare.

That Aquarium Video...

Perhaps you've already seen the video of the 2nd largest aquarium in the world. I only just came across it, and I must say: before this, I had never watched a video online and had it take my breath away.

Leo and I began a bit of a discussion on it...

Me: I bet this doesn't look nearly as cool in person because...
Me: 1) Tons of people talking.
Me: 2) This dramatic song isn't playing.
Leo: 3) Fat people.

People with shittier jobs than you (but who are far more talented)

There are a ton of jobs that make you feel genuinely sorry for those doing the work. But when you actually encounter these people, you can't help but think,"Dude... awesome..." Here is a list of jobs that require general badassery, but probably will never get you laid, ever.

Taxi Drivers
These guys know how to get anywhere - fast. How do they know exactly where to go at all times? I've never seen a cab driver use a navigation system, or even so much as a map. These guys just find their way using genuine badass road-knowledge. As an icing on the cake, they drive like fucking insane morons and never seem to get in an accident.

Sign-Spinner Dudes
At first glance, these guys are high-school dropout morons. But when you're stopped at the red light and watching them, you can't help but be fucking mesmerized. I've seen guys flipping and spinning signs around and between their legs without so much as pausing to think about what the fuck happens next. I'd imagine it takes countless hours of practice and a certain level of natural awesomeness to pull this off. But man, what a fucking shitty job. If I'm ever a millionaire, I'm going to hire a professional sign-spinner to stand by my pool and spin a big sign that says,"YOU ARE AWESOME AND DO NOT HAVE A TINY DICK AT ALL!"

Poker Dealers
These guys sit in a room and watch a bunch of fat guys with proportionately-sized egos playing one of the slowest games known to man (the other being who-can-shit-corn-out-the-fastest). Every minute, they deal cards, and sit there counting chips all day. Their pay? A dollar in "tip" every few minutes or so. But some of them are genuinely awesome. For starters, they shuffle cards like fucking champions (although the better casinos have the gay automatic shuffling devices now). Then consider the fact that they always know exactly how many chips are on the table at all times; it's no wonder that so many of them are weird-looking math-nerd Asian dudes. Last, and most importantly, their card-flicking skills are intense. While carrying on a full-on conversation with the drunk white guy smearing chicken tender oil all over the cards, the dealer flicks two cards per person exactly in front of them, making them catch against the edge of the table. If you can say you've never been envious of that, you're a filthy fucking liar.

Burger Flippers
I'm not talking about the "grillers" at McDonald's. I'm talking about the guys at your local brew-house who are standing there having a pint while making your burger. These guys stand in front of a huge grill all day with half a dozen other sweaty dudes; when they're talked to, it's an order from some cute college dropout who actually takes home a respectable paycheck. But when they flip burgers, it's magic. Where you'd be standing there slowly trying to "wedge" your spatula under your patty by giving numerous short 1-mm jabs and thinking,"OMG OMG IT'S BURNING OMG", these guys slice between the grill and the patty in one confident swoop, toss the patty unnecessarily high into the air, allow it to flip several times, and finally slap it down just as it lands perfectly in the original spot with the opposite side against the grill. If you can't respect that kind of magic, you're a queer.

Lumberjacks
I've never met a lumberjack (there aren't many trees to cut down in Los Angeles, California), but I can only imagine that they're full of testosterone and badassitude. These guys wake up in the morning, bone their wives, grab a huge axe, and drive a good ol' American truck into the mountain and spend the day drinking beer and cutting down trees. If that's not manly, fuck you. No other 250-pound man can climb up a fucking tree and solemnly/calmly ponder what's for lunch and whether his wife is banging some other lumberjack at the moment. Oh right, unless he's a fucking bear.

Facebook Status Messages

As my list of Facebook friends grows, I'm noticing more and more retarded status messages. People don't seem to realize how douchetastic they make themselves look on a daily basis with stupid status messages. Here are a list of those messages, along with what the posters seem to think their friends think and what we actually think.

"_____ is still tired from so much fun last night!"
What you think they think: Wow, _____ is so cool. I totally want to ask him about what he did last night. He's not a loser at all! I wish I was there to give him a BJ.
What they actually think: Wow, what a loser. If he was really out having that much fun last night, he wouldn't be up at 6am writing about it on Facebook.

"_____ beer, vodka, tons of french fries. good times."
What you think they think: That sounds like so much fun. I so wish I was cool enough to drink with him. I'm totally going to call him and ask if I can join. Also, I want to give him a BJ.
What they actually think: What kind of douchebag brags about drinking on Facebook? If his dick was the fountain of life, I'd sooner die. Also, starting a list directly after a name doesn't constitute a proper sentence.

"_____ OMG LAKERS!! LAKERS!! I KNEW THEY'D GO ALL THE WAY!! Also, RIP MJ... =["
What you think they think: YEAH! OMG LAKERS! WE'RE TOTALLY FRIENDS NOW! I WANT TO CALL HIM UP FOR A LAKER BEER AND THEN GIVE HIM A BJ! HOW DOES HE KNOW ALL THIS NEWS?!
What they actually think: Oh great, another retarded Lakers update in my newsfeed. I sure wish I could filter for updates that aren't about Lakers winning, MJ dying, and other non-status shit that I hear about all day anyway.

"_____ thinks Mondays are like licking old cocaine from a hooker's asshole."
What you think they think: LOL, he's so funny! I love the jokes about days of the week!! I want to give him a BJ because it's Friday!
What they actually think: Yes, we all hate Mondays, and we all love Fridays. Your joke about Monday isn't funny. If giving you a BJ turned every day into Saturday, I'll take a calendar of Mondays.

How Sprint lost my business before they even had it

I've been with T-Mobile for over five years now. That's a fairly long time to stay with a company completely full of shit and lies. Today, my contract with T-Mobile finally expired. Stoked, I browsed through my phone options, and decided on getting the Palm Pre on Sprint's mobile network. So, after doing my research and picking my plan, I called up the local Sprint store and made a reservation to see an agent after work - yes, apparently you need a reservation to see a damn phone salesman. Unfortunately, the Pre is not offered online, which is my preferred method of most purchases.

Being the dude that I am, I was pretty fucking excited to pick up my new phone. I went there right on time, and I walked up to the counter. Signs were everywhere: "In a rush? We understand! Why wait? Make a reservation and be helped immediately!" Fancy, as there were a group of people already in the "waiting area". I walked up to the guy behind the welcoming counter and explained that I had a reservation at 4:30pm with Steven. I was told it would just be a couple minutes.

... So I waited... and waited... and waited... and got up to play with the demo phones... then sat back down and waited again. During this time, a couple other passersby came in and began browsing the store. These people were immediately greeted with eager salesmen trying to make their (likely) commission-based pay... and I waited some more... and more. After fifteen minutes went by, I was obviously quite frustrated. I guess Sprint figured that they already had my business so I wasn't a priority. After all, I'd already told them to put a Pre on hold and that I'd be picking it up shortly. During my time sitting there, I managed to scope out Steven among the sea of black shirts and name tags. I watched as he talked to the welcoming desk boy, then walked over to a young female customer who was having trouble with her phone, and who had arrived as a walk-in more than ten minutes after I had arrived for my reservation. I watched, almost evil-smiling in disbelief, as he tried to flirt with this customer about fixing her phone himself. Then I got up to walk out. He'd apparently been watching me too, and knew exactly what I was about to do. He had pushed his luck too far, and was about to lose a guaranteed customer. From his distance of fifteen feet away, he quickly acknowledged me by name, his faux tone trying desperately to suggest that he had no clue that it was me and that I was waiting for him. I promptly flicked him off and continued out the door.

I guess I'll wait for the next hot phone to come along. Or maybe I'll try my luck at a different Sprint location if I'm feeling forgiving.

No Shit News: Walking/biking linked to better fitness.

Walking, biking to work linked with better fitness

No kidding, really? I've said this a million times before, and I'll say it again: no shit. "Health" news in general is filled with so much "fluff" and so little content. Every fucking health study you see these days is unsubstantial and utter bullshit. Instead of dumping a bunch of our tax dollars into providing more health care, why don't we get rid of these retarded health "researchers" and use that money instead? Fucking pointless.

Bank of America

While I'm sitting here fuming, I figured I'd write a nice little blog article.

Earlier this evening, I went to go eat at a little restaurant in Melrose. When we got our bill, my Bank of America credit card was declined. Impossible, I thought, I had roughly $700 in balance on the card and the limit is $12,000.

So I called Bank of America, and I was told that their systems were down for weekly maintenance. When I asked if that would in any way affect my ability to use my credit card, she simply repeated her statement about weekly maintenance. How's about I fucking heard you the first time, you uneducated bitch? Annoyed, upset, and rather embarrassed, I logged onto my Bank of America account from my phone to find that my credit card account doesn't even show. Only my checking account appeared. I tried to shrug it off, and opted to pay with my Discover card. But, like most places, they didn't accept Discover, so I ended up using an old Visa that I haven't touched in years.

On my way home, I made several calls to check up on Bank of America. I was hung up on twice, and I hung up on them about as many times. When we finally got home, I went ahead and logged onto bofa.com on my computer. Again, my credit card account was completely missing.

Then, I clicked on my "mail" from Bank of America. Here, I found a notice, dated today, stating that my account number has changed, and that no action is required on my part. Well that's fucking convenient, isn't it? Of course, I called again to find out what the fuck is going on, and nobody is able to explain to my why the account wouldn't show up on my main login welcome screen. I asked three friends with Bank of America Online Banking accounts to verify that they were able to see their account on the website. All three were able to.

For the past two hours now, Bank of America has been telling me,"The system maintenance will be done in two hours." Excellent job giving me the run-around.

Fuck you, Bank of America. Seriously.

... I've got a phone call to make.

(Updated below)

So it turns out that my account information was stolen. Apparently a merchant I had dealt with was hacked, and tons of credit card numbers on file were stolen. This merchant informed the large banks (Visa, Mastercard, Discover, AmEx, etc.), and those banks in turn notified all card-issuing banks - Bank of America, in my case. Bank of America then closed my account and transferred all legitimate balances to a new card. This new card was mailed out yesterday. Had I not called, I would have never been notified of this.

All of this took me 20+ phone calls and four hours of my time to sort out. Fuck Bank of America.

Mysterious Tremors

If you live in California, or in any earthquake-prone area, you know that faultlines are hotbeds for major earthquakes. Here in California, we have the San Andreas Fault, the cause of most major earthquakes in the California area since forever-ago.

Here's a little known fact about these places where earthquakes are likely to occur: they might vibrate just about, oh I don't know, all the fucking time.

Now can somebody please relay this information to the people behind the following article?

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090709/ap_on_sc/us_sci_san_andreas_fault

 

Mysterious tremors, eh? Yeah, pretty mysterious until you take in the pretty important piece of information that it's a fucking faultline. Geez, how do so many of these still have jobs? And how many idiots out there read this shit and think,"Oh my God, the faultline is actually trembling?!"? 

I'll back away from my argument if you can prove to me that the cause of these tremors are THE Tremors. But I trust Kevin Bacon would save the day anyway, so what's the worry?

Bitch drinks (and other manly no-nos)

Last night, a lady-friend and I went to Yard House for a late dinner & drinks. I ordered a glass of Warsteiner Pilsner, and she ordered a goblet of Lindemans Framboise. And you can bet your ass I was taking as many sips as possible from her glass before it was done. Unfortunately for me, she was tired and not up for a second round, so I ended up ordering another "manly beer" for myself instead.

You see, between dudes, there's this unspoken rule that you don't get to order certain drinks - i.e., 'bitch drinks'. And like there are some 'chick flicks' that are surprisingly entertaining, there are some pretty damn good 'bitch drinks'. To name just a few: Mike's Hard Lemonade, Smirnoff Ice, blended margheritas, Bacardi Silver, apple martinis, and of course the aforementioned-and-absolutely-amazing Framboise. Many guys, especially posers, will stress that they absolutely, seriously, truly, really-I-swear-to-God do not like any of these previous drinks. Then they'll chase their glass of fancy Scotch over fucking ice with a sip of Coke. Give me a fucking break. If you had any real sense of confidence, you could at fucking admit that bitch drinks taste like what I would imagine a glass of win tastes like. Who are you fooling by putting on this selective-drinking machismo act?


Other things that most men actually like (if they don't, it's not related to the homojingling aspect of it):

• Chocolate
• Cupcakes
• Nice clothes
• Pretty things (What the fuck do you call gadgets?)
• Walking on the beach (Who the fuck doesn't? David Hasselhoff probably does it like eight times a day to rescue super hot babes.)
• Baths (Bitch, I like to relax and peepee-inducing warm water too. Fuck off.)
• Puppies and kittens (Just because I'm a man doesn't mean I'm a heartless bastard.)

... Yeah, seriously.

The Orgasm Mystery

According to this brilliant article, more attractive women tend to cause men to have more powerful, faster-shooting orgasms. This, in turn, leads to these women having a higher chance at getting pregnant.

... They needed a study to figure that out? And yet they still don't really have a clue what the hell to make of this information? These people are saying that "the mechanism" that drives this is still unknown. Uhh, yeah... These guys/girls clearly haven't been having much sex.

Let me explain it for the fine folks at the University of Stockholm...

If a woman is hot, I'm going to be real fucking horny, and I'm going to have a great big orgasm once I finish sex. On the other hand, if she's an ugly Monica Lewinsky-looking cow, then I'm either going to go limp before/during sex, never orgasm, or have to think really hot about a hotter woman so that I can barely eek out a tiny load.

It's not that fucking hard to figure out. For fuck's sake, can we please have some meaningful "studies" to report on?

Call me a pervert, but...

Guys love gadgets. We love reading about gadgets too, and imagining all the fun things we'd do if we were to actually buy all the stupid gadgets that grab out attention.

I don't know about other dudes, but sometimes I see a gadget and immediately begin thinking of the perverted-ness that could ensue from acquiring one.

As an example, I present to you the Gorillapod:

The Gorillapod is designed to be a more flexible (no pun intended) camera mount. But does anybody see a set of heavy-duty anal beads instead? I can totally picture a home-made porno where the cameraman takes his camera off the Gorillapod, then promptly inserts the legs into each of three anuses. Or keeping the camera on the mount, mounting the legs into three anuses, then having the three actresses crawl around like some kind of freak, sexable camera mount (this would require the use of mirrors to see the action, obviously).

Oh, how my mind wanders.

Screw you, Department of Education

While going through college, I took out several thousands of dollars in student loans. In the years since graduating, I've been slowly paying them off. Now, the annual interest rate on these loans was a fixed 5%, so I was in absolutely no rush to pay down this debt.

Until...

Today, I logged into SallieMae.com to make my usual monthly minimum payment on my loan. Strangely, the website kept insisting that there was no loan on record for the login information provided. On one hand, I was stoked: maybe they had conveniently "lost" my loan information and I wouldn't have to pay another dime. On the other: what if they came around later and demanded late fees for missed payments? I figured I'd play it safe and give them a call.

After figuring my way through a million menus and stating my social security number several times, I finally got connected to a representative who identified herself as "Michelle". Yeah, right, more like Mishdrawaripipipunali. Anyway, after the usual prove-your-identity game, the conversation went something like this...

Me: I tried to log into my account today, and it insists that there is no loan under my username.
Michelle: Okay, please allow me to check your account information.
Me: Sure.
Michelle: Okay, let me explain what has happened with your loan. Your loan was purchased by the Department of Education, and is being serviced now by Nelnet.
Me: I'm sorry? Where was my say in this?
Michelle: This is how it works. The Department of Education can buy your loan. Now you must pay them.
Me: Alright, fair enough. But shouldn't I have at least been notified of something like this?
Michelle: Yes.
Me: And?
Michelle: I just explained it to you.
Me: Yeah, but I had to call YOU to get that information. What if I had automatic payments set up and didn't try to manually log in to the website?
Michelle: Yes. You need to pay Nelnet now.
Me: I understand that. But when were you guys planning on telling ME about this change?
Michelle: I don't know. I am sorry. Is there anything else I can help you with today?
Me: No, there clearly is not.

A little annoying, but fuck Sallie Mae and all's well, right? Apparently not. So I created an account and logged in at Nelnet.com, and what do I find? It states that my monthly periodic interest rate is a variable 0.98%. That translates to roughly 12% annual. What the fuck happened to my guaranteed fixed 5% rate? Is this the bullshit that the government can pull just because they fucking feel like it?

Lucky for me/them, I've actually got only a few hundred more dollars to pay on this particular loan, so I've little incentive to waste my time making phone calls and screaming like an uneducated madman. Still, the premise is unbelievable, and I've lost even more faith in this government.

Thomas Cook strikes again!

Remember the story about the unbalanced airplane a few weeks back? It looks like Thomas Cook Airlines, the company in that story, is at it again.

According to this article, Thomas Cook Airlines had told already-seated passengers to wait 8 hours until they could fly in an engineer to fix an undisclosed problem with their airplane. Lucky for them, Jack Bauer was onboard to fix the problem within 30 minutes.

Note to self: avoid Thomas Cook Airlines if I ever have a reason to fly around in Europe.

Worst crane game toy ever

Went to Albertson's to buy some stuff for dinner. Saw this crane game on the way in...


Doesn't seem to bad at first glance, except for the fact that there were like no toys left. You're also guaranteed to win once $10 have been played. But here's what really caught my attention...

It's some kind of gypsy rubber ducky. Who the fuck would want a creepy toy like that? If I was gay enough to sit around in a bubbly bathtub, the last thing I'd want is to open my eyes and see this fucking cursed rubber duck staring at me, judging me, hexing me.

The Legend of Zelda

If you're a dude, you've probably played at least one Legend of Zelda video game. At the very least, you've got some notion of what the series is about. You control a little elf named Link, and you're on a mission to save Princess Zelda from whatever bullshit she's gotten herself into. As a kid, I loved Legend of Zelda games. They gave me this nerdy sense of accomplishment when I got new swords or extra heart pieces, etc.

Recently, I won a Nintendo DS from an arcade machine (I know, I'm pretty fucking awesome like that). I gave it to my girlfriend, along with a bunch of games. One of those games is The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass. About a week ago, I got bored and decided to give it a shot. While I find it fairly interesting, my now grown-up sense of logic causes me to find so many things to fault the game for.

Here's my list of grievances with the Zelda games:

1) Why does Link have such a faggy voice? He's running around screaming and "HYAHHH!"ing at the top of his lungs just to swing his tiny little sword or take a tiny little leap across a 2-foot-wide crack in the floor. I find that I avoid fighting as much as possible so I don't have to hear the damn yelps. I get it, he's an elf, and I guess elves have gay little voices. But geez, can't I have an option to turn the voice effects off?

2) How is it that I can run into a house, break a random pot, then walk over and talk to the owner, and find that he's happy to give me strangely detailed information on where to head next? I'd like a little bit of realism, in that the owner would say,"Hey don't break my fucking pot, jerk" and refuse to provide assistance.

3) Why are there so many Rupees hidden in plants and trees? I have to stop myself in the middle of each little mission to ensure that I'm cutting down every single blade of grass I see in hopes of finding Rupees. Usually, I get a bunch of unneeded health refills. Why is Nintendo encouraging kids to run around cutting down nature to find life and money?

4) Why is the currency called "Rupee" to begin with? Is the world some small subset of India? Wait, is Link an Indian? I don't know if it's racist, but somehow that would make him a lot less cool.

5) Why do the bad guys design dungeons that require the use of one particular tool or item, and then leave the damn item in a big, unlocked treasure chest right there in the fucking dungeon? Is it any wonder that Link seems to always save the princess in the end?

Sigh... I genuinely wish I was a kid again, so that I could free myself from this need to have everything make sense.

If you can't love your kids, don't fucking have any...

I went to King Taco today to pick up a bunch of food, and saw just about the saddest thing ever. Some Armenian man was there with his two elementary-school daughters (one of them might have even been in kindergarten), and he was sitting there enjoying his burrito, two tacos, and a soda. What did he buy for his daughters? A cup of a rice. No drink, no meats, just a side of rice.

How fucking selfish do you get? Even dogs tend to their young before feeding themselves. I almost wanted to buy a few tacos and give them to the little girls. How can this piece of shit even call himself a dad?

I would have taken a picture, but it was literally just myself and their "family" in the restaurant.

Fun at Costco

Yesterday morning, I was standing around in line at Costco so that I could return a discounted 24 Hour Fitness gym membership voucher. I was stuck behind quite the character in the return line.

This guy was one of those short little Persian men who are convinced that they are the hottest shit in the world. On an objective scale, I would have given him a 2 out of 10. On a subjective scale, 0 out of 10. Anyway, his whole demeanor is this "I'm-way-too-nonchalant-and-cool-to-care-about-anything"-type attitude.

He was trying to return this...


Yes, it's an old-school, rear-projection big-screen TV, discontinued at least half a decade ago. And it looks like he hired help to come move it from his house. So here were three guys, one Persian guy and two Hispanic guys, standing around waiting in line with an hour to return this ancient TV. When he finally got to the register, the conversation that ensued was comedy gold.

Guy: I want to return this TV. It squeaks.
Costco: It squeaks? You bought this TV here?
Guy: Yes, I bought it here. It makes a squeaking noise sometimes.
Costco: Do you have your receipt?

*Guy hands over receipt.*

Costco: You bought this in 2004?
Guy: What does it matter?
Costco: It's 2009. You bought this five years ago...
Guy: What does it matter?
Costco: We have a 90-day return policy on TVs and computers.
Guy: 10 years.
Costco: Excuse me?
Guy: 10 years?
Costco: What about 10 years?
Guy: You guys have some kind of agreement with the customer or Toshiba. It's 10 years.
Costco: No. It's 90 days.
Guy: Nope. 10 years. This is what you told me.
Costco: No.

At this point, the Persian man and his ancient TV have caused quite the stir-up. Customers and Costco workers alike are looking and laughing (or trying their best not to). Everybody is shaking their heads in excitement. The guy at the register decides it's time to pass it on up to the manager. Now, if I was that manager, I would have laughed in his face and sent him home. Amazingly, the manager decided to honor the return (to some degree)... but not without having a little fun with the guy first...

Manager: You bought this TV five years ago?
Guy: Yes, but you have 10 year warranty.
Manager: No, we do not have a 10 year warranty on televisions.

*Manager and guy discuss return terms, referring to the receipt and other documents repeatedly. I'm assuming he was telling the guy he'd only be getting partial credit back, etc.*

Manager: Move your TV off to the side while I process some of the paperwork here.
Guy: Okay.

*Manager disappears for a couple minutes. Then comes back and calls the attention of the dude...*

Manager: Hey. Hey! I need that remote control if you're going to return it.
Guy: Okay, I leave it here and go get it and come back.
Manager: No, you take it home and come back with the remote.he
Guy: I live maybe 20 miles away, you want me to take it there and come back?!
Manager: Yes, you take your TV, get the remote, bring it back with everything I need to process this return.

At this point, everybody is having quite a good laugh. The guy turns to his hired help, and starts talking to him. They start talking to each other in Spanish, then shake their heads and leave. I'm assuming he paid them up-front for their help and wasn't willing to pay again. Instead of helping him again, they decided to leave him stranded at Costco with a big-screen TV and no ride back home. With all the people around shaking their heads and laughing, I guess one Costco worker felt sorry for the guy, and helped him push the thing out of the store. What happened afterward is anybody's guess. I'm hoping he spent a few hours and a few hundred trying to find somebody to haul his TV home and back over a stupid remote control. More than likely, I'm guessing he got some relative to bring him the remote while he waited at Costco (which isn't nearly as fun of a scenario).

Yeah, that made the 1-hour wait worth it.

Time to fire an editor...

Found this on MarketWatch.com. Being the child that I am, I decided that, rather than accept it as a silly typo and move on with my more meaningful life, I'd sit and imagine how it might not be a typo at all. I'd like to use this in a confrontation. "Look, man. I'd totally whoop your ass, but my computer's broken..."

What The Poop?

Despite how badly I needed to dump, I had to stop and ask the question: how does shit end up on THAT part of the toilet bowl? I figure you'd need to do three things for this to even be possible:

1) Straddle the toilet backwards like some kind of perverted freak.

2) Lean way forward towards the flush-handle.

3) Shit really powerfully so the poo ejects at a super-high velocity and thus smears against the front of the bowl.

... There's a creeper on the loose at my office.