For those of you unfamiliar with the service KGB is a text message research service that reports to be able to answer any question quickly and truthfully. Why anyone would think this business model was laudable (or even practical) in an age when anybody who can send a text message can also access the Internet is beyond me, but whatever. The fact that I have used the service several times, always while intoxicated, proves that there is some merit to the idea.
You'll notice I say that all of my correspondence with KGB has been inebriated, this has led to some chuckle worthy interactions with the service and my arguing every answer they have ever given me. Their answers have never satisfied me and have led to my supposition that in reality KGB is just some dude with a cellphone and the Internets surfing wikipedia.
For Example on last Fridays winter Olympics opening ceremonies in Vancouver:
ME: What time (PST) will the Olympic Torch be lit at the 2010 Winter Olympics?
KGB: Torch Relay began in Athens Greece on October 30 2009 and will arrive in Vancouver British Columbia; February 12 2010; for the opening celebration day.
First of all all let me state that I know that this was an impossible question, akin to asking what the final score of a game will be while the game is in process. There was literally some dude running with a torch and they couldn't be sure exactly what time he would get there. I was just looking for a ball park guess. The damn opening ceremonies were fucking 4 and 1/2 hours long and, with the exception of the lighting effects, asinine and boring. I was hoping for a light at the end of the tunnel. What I received from KGB was akin to a middle schooler's attempt at a pop quiz question they didn't expect. They were just hoping that if they told me enough information related to the data I requested then I would give them some fucking extra-credit or something. Instead of telling me I was an asshole for asking an impossible question or even just providing me with a simple "I don't know, who do you think I am Doc Brown?" They sent me back all of the periphery information they could, brutally abused two poor, innocent semi-colons and left me more than a little ticked off.
To Summarize: I didn't ask where and when it left from, where it would arrive or on what fucking date it would arrive. Did these assholes really think I would pay them for that tripe? I asked them on February 12th so obviously I was watching the opening ceremonies (and by the way wasn't it lit after midnight on the 13th?). It's like they were hoping that if they buried me with enough superfluous bullshit I'd just accept it and pay the charge. Needless to say I responded:
ME: I asked for a time not a date; don't charge me for a nonanswer. (sic)
(just to be a dick a used a semi-colon as god intended, to join two sentences.)
KGB: We apologise you will not be charged for this message. One free credit has been added.
Bitches - even their apologies are ambiguous. Does that mean I was was charged for the first message? If so then I declare shenanigans. I still have a free credit though. Any thoughts on what my question should be?
-T
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
"BJ Banking" or "Writing is Easier When Other People Do It For You"
Sorry the posts have been so sparse recently but it's not like I'm getting paid for this so what did you expect? Seriously.
I've got a ton of topics coming up so expect a post a day for the next week but I wanted to kick off this smorgasbord of delicious diction with a guest spot, the first in Potential-E-Wasted's short history. I know you were all expecting to here from DoJ but apparently he has decided that the most appropriate forum for his writing is Facebook (Seriously, dude writes paragraphs in his status updates, maybe it's sour grapes but I hate that shit) so instead I bring you the misogynistic musings of Mr. Todd.
My friend D on Shallowhags has repeatedly spoken from the view that happy and contended people make boring bloggers and Mr. Todd proves this point. Kid is just f-ing angry, half of the time I don't think he even knows why, It sure makes for some interesting reading though. With out further ado Here's Mr. Todd to kick off the week.
Relationships are all about compromise.
You have to learn each other’s boundaries, when it’s (in)appropriate to cross them, and that you have to give a little in order to get a lot. And when it’s someone that you truly care about, the simple act of giving can be its own reward in and of itself. All non-sociopaths understand this (unless they are true genius sociopaths in which case they may learn to imitate normal human behavior in order to carry out their nefarious plots). (Ed: Shit, he's on to me)
With regards to relationships, I am a giver. To be honest, being a giver is something that I enjoy without expectation. It can be its own prize. That does not mean, however, that this squirrel doesn’t like to get his nut from time to time. I am speaking of course about blow-jobs. (Ed: Of course.)
When a man does his best to please a woman day-in day-out (and does it well I might add), where does all that pleasure go? (Ed: Good Question)
I’ll tell you where it should go: the Blow-Job Bank. Every time a man goes out of his way to make sure that his woman is satisfied and demonstrates he’s willing to go that extra mile, he’s making a donation to the Blow-Job Bank’s 401k plan.
Women would do well to keep track of the savings in the Blow-Job Bank, as her man may wish to dip into them from time to time. For example, it is only fair that, when a woman is unable to receive sexual favors say during a certain disturbing time of the month, she order the cockmeat sandwich. (Ed: The best way I can think of avoiding a blow job would be by referring to it as a cockmeat sandwich)
Just because she’s bleeding all over the furniture doesn’t mean that we both need to suffer. As far as I’m concerned menstruation is myth created by Nazi-feminists to prevent us from blowing loads. The day that my dick starts to bleed, I vow to go down on her for hours. Fair is fair.Until that day, however, we men should be entitled to withdraw from the Blow-Job Bank at will. Unless of course, she prefers the butt.
-Mr. Todd
Potential-E-Wasted would like to remind all of our readers that the opinions expressed by our guest columnists are their opinions alone, and in no way represent the position of this blog or its' staff. Unless of course your really do prefer the butt. Then we (and our staff) are down.
-T
I've got a ton of topics coming up so expect a post a day for the next week but I wanted to kick off this smorgasbord of delicious diction with a guest spot, the first in Potential-E-Wasted's short history. I know you were all expecting to here from DoJ but apparently he has decided that the most appropriate forum for his writing is Facebook (Seriously, dude writes paragraphs in his status updates, maybe it's sour grapes but I hate that shit) so instead I bring you the misogynistic musings of Mr. Todd.
My friend D on Shallowhags has repeatedly spoken from the view that happy and contended people make boring bloggers and Mr. Todd proves this point. Kid is just f-ing angry, half of the time I don't think he even knows why, It sure makes for some interesting reading though. With out further ado Here's Mr. Todd to kick off the week.
Relationships are all about compromise.
You have to learn each other’s boundaries, when it’s (in)appropriate to cross them, and that you have to give a little in order to get a lot. And when it’s someone that you truly care about, the simple act of giving can be its own reward in and of itself. All non-sociopaths understand this (unless they are true genius sociopaths in which case they may learn to imitate normal human behavior in order to carry out their nefarious plots). (Ed: Shit, he's on to me)
With regards to relationships, I am a giver. To be honest, being a giver is something that I enjoy without expectation. It can be its own prize. That does not mean, however, that this squirrel doesn’t like to get his nut from time to time. I am speaking of course about blow-jobs. (Ed: Of course.)
When a man does his best to please a woman day-in day-out (and does it well I might add), where does all that pleasure go? (Ed: Good Question)
I’ll tell you where it should go: the Blow-Job Bank. Every time a man goes out of his way to make sure that his woman is satisfied and demonstrates he’s willing to go that extra mile, he’s making a donation to the Blow-Job Bank’s 401k plan.
Women would do well to keep track of the savings in the Blow-Job Bank, as her man may wish to dip into them from time to time. For example, it is only fair that, when a woman is unable to receive sexual favors say during a certain disturbing time of the month, she order the cockmeat sandwich. (Ed: The best way I can think of avoiding a blow job would be by referring to it as a cockmeat sandwich)
Just because she’s bleeding all over the furniture doesn’t mean that we both need to suffer. As far as I’m concerned menstruation is myth created by Nazi-feminists to prevent us from blowing loads. The day that my dick starts to bleed, I vow to go down on her for hours. Fair is fair.Until that day, however, we men should be entitled to withdraw from the Blow-Job Bank at will. Unless of course, she prefers the butt.
-Mr. Todd
Potential-E-Wasted would like to remind all of our readers that the opinions expressed by our guest columnists are their opinions alone, and in no way represent the position of this blog or its' staff. Unless of course your really do prefer the butt. Then we (and our staff) are down.
-T
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
