(WARNING: LONG, ANGRY POST TODAY...but bear with me...there are some good tips in here)
Let's get started.
I'm considering moving to Russia.
...And not just because my Red Bull and vodkas would be cheaper.
I live in New Hampshire (motto: "Have you banged a cow lately?").
...and Tuesday is the first Presidential primary here.
This means that I'm fielding no less than four phone calls a night from brainwashed robots and horny interns working the phones for the "candidates".
I HATE this.
If you've read my "Meet Ben, My Stalker from Bangalore" post (oldie but goodie), then you'll know that my tolerance these days for being on the phone with stupid f*cksh*ts is at a bare minimum.
Lately, the "Stupid F*ckSh*ts" moniker has since been expanded to include Presidential campaign workers.
Stupid proponents of the Democratic process...
Don't they know I'm TRYING TO WATCH "SCRUBS?"
My mailbox is full of giant flyers from rich pricks vying for a vote they won't get.
...Wait...that last one's just a coupon.
Honestly, I haven't been paying much attention to the candidates so there may be a "Macys" candidate running.
..but I'm going to bet that there's no "Bed Bath and Beyond" guy going for the nomination...THAT one HAS to be a coupon.
The most exposure I've had to what these jackasses are representing is when Rudy Giuliani walked past me during the town's Christmas parade.
"Nice coat," I thought.
It swayed my vote a little.
...it was a REALLY nice coat.
So, these stupid fuckshit volunteers are calling my house at all hours of the night.
At first, I was cordial:
Caller: "Hi, I'm calling from the Hillary Clin..."
Me: "Not on your f*cking life."
Then, the calls kept coming...
Caller: "Hi. I'm calling on behalf of Ron Paul..."
Me: "Who the f*ck is Ron Paul?"
Caller: "well sir, Ron Paul is a candidate for..."
Me: "Never heard of him. Will he legalize brothels?"
Me: "CHRIST! You don't even know his platform and you want me to vote for him?!"
Caller: "Well, sir, Ron Paul believes that.."
Me: "Oh, wait. Ron Paul. Okay. Sure. I know who you're talking about."
Caller: "Well sir, Ron would like your vote..."
Me: "VOTE?!? I ALREADY own his 'Miracle Chicken Rottisserie' and some 'Spray-on hair'...which doesn't f*cking WORK by the way. Maybe you can tell him THAT..."
Caller: "Sir, that's Ron Popeil."
Me: "Huh. Is HE running? I'd vote for him. That thing makes a GOOD chicken."
So, I got another TWO CALLS from Hillary yesterday.
...AND some people from her campaign ACTUALLY CAME TO MY HOUSE.
I think she's stalking me...
...looking for some hot, New England midget-lovin'.
The First Call:
Caller: "Hi, I'm calling from Hillary's campaign and was wondering if you'll be giving her your vote."
Me: "Yes. I'm voting for her in the category of 'Best Cankles on a Candidate.'"
I didn't say that, but now wish I had thought of it. Although, I haven't seen John McCain's cankles, so he might have the edge here.
Me: "I'm not voting for her, but my wife is."
The caller's tone now sounds like she's found her long lost vibrator and the batteries are STILL GOOD:
"EXCELLENT! Tell her that she and Bill will be appearing at..."
Me: "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Bill's coming, TOO?"
Caller: "Yes, sir. Bill will be there."
Me: "Is he bringing Monica? I'd go if he brought Monica. Is she coming?"
Caller (losing her vibrator tone): "No sir, Monica won't be there."
Me: "Then I'm not going. I'd go to see Monica....I'd like to see her."
Caller: "Thank you."
You know, for liberals, they're SO f*cking uptight.
Wife after I hang up: "Not your best work."
I'll do better next time.
So I did:
Second Hillary Call:
This time...I don't say "Hello." I wait for the caller to talk to see if I recognize them.
Caller: "Hello? Hello? I'm calling from Hillary Clinton's campaign..."
It's at this point that I take on the accent and voice of a female from Guatemala.
I tell the guy that I LOVE Hillary...and I will vote for her at least SEVEN times on Tuesday.
I explain that I will go in...vote...come out...go back in with a different name...vote again...and do this SEVEN times.
He does not dissuade me from performing this felony on Hillary's behalf.
Caller: "She'll be at the High School on..."
I then excitedly tell him that I actually WORK at the high school, and clean the toilets there.
I then proceed to tell him about the size and messiness of a teenager's bowel movements and ask if he's ever seen one.
I then tell him that they keep me locked in the bathroom at the school, so unless Hillary will be pooing, I might not get to see her.
He's not sure if she'll need to go to the bathroom.
He thanks me, and hangs up.
I LOVE DOING THIS.
I've also decided to answer the phone from now on in Spanish if:
1) I don't recognize the phone number, or..
2) There IS no phone number (i.e., phone says "Incoming Call")
So in those two circumstances, I pick up the phone and say:
(I believe this means "pinto bean" in Spanish)
If it's a friend, they'll say "hola" back.
If it's not, they just go and start their shpeel.
This is where the fun starts.
Caller: "Hello, sir. Is Mr. Rodney (last name butchered to some ridiculous extent) available?"
Huh. Not a friend.
Me (louder): "HOLA!! HOLA!!"
Caller: "Sir, I'm calling from the local chapter of.."
This either means the "number eight" in Spanish, or is the clinical name for toenail fungus.
If the caller IS Spanish, or understands Spanish, or works for that company that makes the toenail fungus medication, they know I'm f*cking with them at this point.
But...sometimes they don't.
Caller: "Um...Hello? Yes, I'm calling on behalf of the..."
Me: "OCHO!! Hola? Chimichanga!"
(I have a very limited knowledge of Spanish)
Try it. It's fun.
The only problem is that I feel guilty doing this to people who realize that my last name is BLATANTLY French...
...or actual charities that really need money...or blood...or whatever...
...but I get over it.
Luckily, the jackass phone volunteers who work for the candidates usually don't realize this...
...as in order to volunteer your free time for what amounts to "Telemarketing a Millionaire"...
...you really can't be all that smart in the first place...
...and deserve to be "Ocho'd."
Learn from it.
I'm heading back to my plate of delicious chicken.
Thanks, Ron Paul.
I mean, Popeil.