Existing in a basement bedroom has it's downfalls.
Spiders.
Are one such fall of down.
Having a window thats bascially in a garden also doesn't help to deter the many different sizes of 8 legged satans that coming barreling across my floor.
I've always been able to take comfort in the fact that with lightning quick reflexes and 17 folds of paper towel...I could defeat you without harm.
But tonite
you successfully changed things.
You've harmed me.
To the extreme you creepy bitches.
It's not a rare occurance for me to be drawing at my desk and look up to see a teensy cute piece of fuck run across my wall.
It happens 3-5 times a week.
And I can deal with that....
to a degree.
I understand that you're a part of basement dwelling.
You come with the territory.
You unfortunately exist in MY territory....
and when that happens
I grab an entire roll of paper towel
and make you eat soft cottony crevice.
And to make sure my point is understood for all your friends who are trying to sneak attack me from wherEVER the fuck you come from...
i flush your terrifying multiappendage corpse in my porcelain funeral home.
With THAT said Spiders...
I ALSO have the understanding that when I'm in YOUR territory, I'm not to touch you.
If I'm in the woods and walk into your goddamm invisible terror nets...
I make sure you're not in any danger...
before i shake and scream and gag at the thought that you're on my face.
If I'm out in the barn and see one of you inches from landing on my shoulder...
I gently move out of the way
and run the fuck in the house and shower.
I've even avoided bringing my exponentially larger than you shoe down onto your brains while walking down the street.
What I'm getting at here Spiders....
Is that I don't play games with our 'arrangements'
I don't fuck with you unless absolutley necessary.
I'm not outdoors setting up fake Justin's to make you think "oh fuck is he gonna step on me?".
There's just no mind games comin from me.
Things are pretty straight forward:
If you're in MY space
you eat it.
If I'm in yours
i flail and scream then piss off and not touch you.
But Spiders...
You frighten me so often....and to such a degree....that tonite....
I was harmed.
Because of your mind games.
Your little spider mind fuck games
just made me slap myself in the face.
One of you infultrated my less than impenatrable fortress with a bed last night....
and he got away.
HE.
GOT.
THE FUCK.
AWAY.
so this, with obvious reason, has been on my mind since it happened.
I went for him
and he fuckin shot across my floor like he was goddamm jet powered.
which scared the hell out of me.
I searched for that combustion fueled minion of hell for a good 20 minutes.
Searched and came up fruitless.
but i still knew.
I KNEW he was out there.
every fibre of my existance knew he was out there waiting to strike.
So tonite
as i'm watching a television show and pleasantly eating pizza...
I just HAPPEN to look to my left
and in my perifs...
I SEE HIM
i saw his blurry fur in my periferals.
WHICH MEANS
he was SOOOOOOOOOOOMMMME fuckin on my face.
like...
in my goddamm eye close.
Which, by the way, is also a short distance from my ear...
and I wasn't letting you call my pierced audible tunnels home where you can raise thousands of babies and let them call my brain their elementary school playground.
NOW
my initial reaction as a 23 year old young adult is OF COURSE
to freak the fuck out.
So young spider of the 7th circle of hell...
With all my efforts and energy at 2:30 am...
I haul off
and slap myself.
I slapped myself like there were 14 of you on me and i wanted to make you all one giant soup of gorey insect victory.
I smacked myself so hard
you should be implanted in my facial tissues.
I beat you so passionatley into my face it made acne think twice.
I fucked me up so hard that a pimp called me for lessons.
I completely rearranged my genetic facial structure because you, spider, were on my face.
To top all this off Spider...
I'm an anxiety riddled mess...
So one bone shattering slap certainly will not do.
After 3 more and a nice red hand mark later...
I decide to calm the fuck down
and take a look at my trophy.
Magine my surprise when I look in the mirror and see only red marks.
no spider remains.
did I slap you so hard you evaporated into a breathable dust?
did I pummel you into disintegration?
did I beat you into last week?
No spider.
No I did not.
Because you didn't even exist.
You're missing solider of satan has had me so subconsciously on edge...
that I thought.
a piece of my hair.
was a spider.
and I beat myself to pieces as a result.
I kicked my ass because I thought you were on me.
I've not once made you kick the shit out of you because YOU thought I was gonna step on you.
And that says worlds to me.
That says "Justin....these spiders are getting to you"
and that Spiders..
is unacceptable.
But the worst part about all this is...
YOUR DICKHEAD FRIEND IS STILL HIDING SOMEWHERE IN MY ROOM.
So all in one night Spiders, you've take a 2 point lead against me.
You made me kick my own ass
AND
You still have a spy in my room.
But when I find him
He's fucked.
Because now...
i feel like an idiot.
You've been warned.
love justin.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
An Open Letter To Coors Light.
First of all. Lets just get this out there
Coors Light....you're beer.
SO
you're not entirely black listed.
but today certainly got at least 3 or 4 of your letters on that list.
And you've only got 10....
so be warned.
Today I was at the liquor store purchasing some liquified confidence
and happened upon my regular shelf spot in search of Grasshopper.
Upon arriving at my chilly destination, I was met with an empty shelf.
Magine my surprise to find out that a beer no one knows, named GRASSHOPPER is fuckin sold out.
I'm of the belief that it was sold out
because I wanted some.
Either that or I slowly bought them out and didn't realize.
The latter is more probable.
So up yours me
you screwed you hard today.
Now,
I couldn't leave a liquor store with no liquor...
thats just silly.
It makes as much sense as flying a kite with no string.
SO
I reluctantly purchased a collection of Coors Light coldshot-esque style cans.
8 in all.
They come packaged in a box not box.
The shape the packaging makes is a square...
but because the cardboard people are so super duper intelligent
they figure that the sides to a goddamm cube don't mean anything
and took them the fuck out.
It's like a carboard oreo filled with 10 cent redeemable tin.
So i have this bizarre box not box of coors light coldshot-esque cans that i put in my van
and pull out of the parking lot
perfectly neutral to my previous endevour.
Until I come to my first major corner on the way home.
It should be noted at this point that I have not consumed any brew and I was obeying all speed limits.
As I round the corner, 8 silver bullets come flying out of their shitty habitat and happily roll all the fuck over my van.
BECAUSE YOUR BOXES HAVE NO SIDES.
you put beer in a box...
to keep it there.
if you have no sides...
then what in the fuck do you expect to happen?
It should be noted at this point that I'm terrified of opening cans.
Cans can not be trusted.
Friends with cans are even worse.
You don't know what they've done to that can....They could have shaken the shit out of that can like they were lookin for answers.
I've had my trust in cans tried in the past as I've been sprayed by friends.
(Assasscanated if you will.)
And a shaken can of beer is even worse.
Because it's one less to drink
and then i'm sticky and smell like 4 day old hobo.
So clearly, my anxiety about 8 shaken cans takes it's toll on my brain at this point and
in the middle of my drive home, at a stop sign, I put my van in park and get the fuck out
so i can pick up all your now dangerous beer bombs.
Problem solved.
Until it occured to me what could have happened had I been pulled over after your cans attacked my dirty van carpet.
It's illegal to have open liquor in a car.
'open liquor' in this case is refering to booze that is out of package.
Which is as illegal as actual open liquor.
Allbeit a lot less dangerous.
My point is
your shitty wall-less beer can apartment let loose a world of nonsense in my van
and had I been pulled over any time after that
I could have had a major situation on my hands. (lets face it....those cans had to call my backseat home once they fell out......jammin that shit back into the box is more difficult than accidently taking the cereal bag out of the box.)
With packaging so easily disrupted, you're leaving alot of people open to these sorts of situations.
And that's pretty irresponsible of a company that preaches responsible alcohol care.
What if I coudn't find one of your cans?
Say I get home...can't find one...and then forget.
Days later i get pulled over
and BAM
i get questioned by a police officer who's more than eager to know why I have a can of Coors Light jammed inbetween my sliding passenger side door.
All this would be a result of your packaging.
A situation that could have been avoided
if you fuckers understood geometry.
love justin.
Coors Light....you're beer.
SO
you're not entirely black listed.
but today certainly got at least 3 or 4 of your letters on that list.
And you've only got 10....
so be warned.
Today I was at the liquor store purchasing some liquified confidence
and happened upon my regular shelf spot in search of Grasshopper.
Upon arriving at my chilly destination, I was met with an empty shelf.
Magine my surprise to find out that a beer no one knows, named GRASSHOPPER is fuckin sold out.
I'm of the belief that it was sold out
because I wanted some.
Either that or I slowly bought them out and didn't realize.
The latter is more probable.
So up yours me
you screwed you hard today.
Now,
I couldn't leave a liquor store with no liquor...
thats just silly.
It makes as much sense as flying a kite with no string.
SO
I reluctantly purchased a collection of Coors Light coldshot-esque style cans.
8 in all.
They come packaged in a box not box.
The shape the packaging makes is a square...
but because the cardboard people are so super duper intelligent
they figure that the sides to a goddamm cube don't mean anything
and took them the fuck out.
It's like a carboard oreo filled with 10 cent redeemable tin.
So i have this bizarre box not box of coors light coldshot-esque cans that i put in my van
and pull out of the parking lot
perfectly neutral to my previous endevour.
Until I come to my first major corner on the way home.
It should be noted at this point that I have not consumed any brew and I was obeying all speed limits.
As I round the corner, 8 silver bullets come flying out of their shitty habitat and happily roll all the fuck over my van.
BECAUSE YOUR BOXES HAVE NO SIDES.
you put beer in a box...
to keep it there.
if you have no sides...
then what in the fuck do you expect to happen?
It should be noted at this point that I'm terrified of opening cans.
Cans can not be trusted.
Friends with cans are even worse.
You don't know what they've done to that can....They could have shaken the shit out of that can like they were lookin for answers.
I've had my trust in cans tried in the past as I've been sprayed by friends.
(Assasscanated if you will.)
And a shaken can of beer is even worse.
Because it's one less to drink
and then i'm sticky and smell like 4 day old hobo.
So clearly, my anxiety about 8 shaken cans takes it's toll on my brain at this point and
in the middle of my drive home, at a stop sign, I put my van in park and get the fuck out
so i can pick up all your now dangerous beer bombs.
Problem solved.
Until it occured to me what could have happened had I been pulled over after your cans attacked my dirty van carpet.
It's illegal to have open liquor in a car.
'open liquor' in this case is refering to booze that is out of package.
Which is as illegal as actual open liquor.
Allbeit a lot less dangerous.
My point is
your shitty wall-less beer can apartment let loose a world of nonsense in my van
and had I been pulled over any time after that
I could have had a major situation on my hands. (lets face it....those cans had to call my backseat home once they fell out......jammin that shit back into the box is more difficult than accidently taking the cereal bag out of the box.)
With packaging so easily disrupted, you're leaving alot of people open to these sorts of situations.
And that's pretty irresponsible of a company that preaches responsible alcohol care.
What if I coudn't find one of your cans?
Say I get home...can't find one...and then forget.
Days later i get pulled over
and BAM
i get questioned by a police officer who's more than eager to know why I have a can of Coors Light jammed inbetween my sliding passenger side door.
All this would be a result of your packaging.
A situation that could have been avoided
if you fuckers understood geometry.
love justin.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
An Open Letter To Telus.
Hello Telus.
This is by no means difficult for me to say at all:
I think we need some time apart.
And by 'think' I mean: We're over.
And by 'some time apart' I mean: eat shit.
I can confidently say without even the slightest margine of error...
That none of this emotional collapse is even remotely my fault.
It's all you babe.
I'm pretty sure I was clear about how thin the ice you were standing on was.
And baby....
You just fell in.
I tried remaining calm when callers to my motorola paperweight would leave a voicemail...
and i wouldn't get it.
I tried keeping my cool when text messagers would send me a text that extended into 2 messages....
but i wouldn't get the second part until the next day...
Or even at all
Or get the first page twice. (and we're all aware about my feelings on that.)
I REALLY tried keeping my anger under control when you would freeze as I tried to text the double page texter about how i didn't recieve the second page to the double page text.
But Telus.
There is truly no excuse for charging me what I've paid
and providing me with a piece of mechanical abortion that doesn't even meet it's basic fundamental purpose.
Telus.
I do not ever turn my phone off...
do you know why?
IN CASE SOMEONE WANTS TO GET A HOLD OF ME YOU PIECES OF SHIT.
I had more people tell me to turn my phone on because your poisonous company couldn't correctly provide me with a product that would fufill it's purpose in my life.
it's simple purpose.
simple.
simple.
purpose.
Someone calls me....and i answer.
because i paid you for that.....and that's what phones do.
a phone really only has one purpose.
But when yours don't recieve phone calls...
then how in the fuck am i supposed to do what i need to do?
How in the fuck....do I plan my day.....based on the fact that I am in posession of a phone that can up and decide without notice....that it's not going to be a phone today.
What in the fuck Telus??
Did you give your phones a fuckin conscience?
An ability to up and decide for itself one day that there had to be more to life?
It's like my goddamm phone had an epiphany one day and just gave the fuck up on recieving phone calls then packed it's shit and moved to New York to be a coked out bloated stage whore.
Thats what you've given me Telus.
A coked out, bloated, stage whore of a mechanical abortion.
Thats a far cry from a FUCKIN TELEPHONE.
And you're responsible for every ounce of it.
But you know what Telus.
We came into this relationship happy.
You were happy screwing others
and I was happy that I didn't own one of your phones.
Well Telus.
I'm happy once again.
Because we're over.
We're through Telus.
It's done.
But all in all I must thank you.
Truthfully and honestly...
for providing me such an incredible confetti show when I finally used your telephone as a baseball.
Who knew that cell phone organs could be so beautifully scattered over a backyard in the sunlight.
So thank you Telus.
I truly beg of you to make your phones bigger and chunkier
so that when others use your phones as a replacement for sports equipment....
they'll be just as happy as i was.
love justin.
This is by no means difficult for me to say at all:
I think we need some time apart.
And by 'think' I mean: We're over.
And by 'some time apart' I mean: eat shit.
I can confidently say without even the slightest margine of error...
That none of this emotional collapse is even remotely my fault.
It's all you babe.
I'm pretty sure I was clear about how thin the ice you were standing on was.
And baby....
You just fell in.
I tried remaining calm when callers to my motorola paperweight would leave a voicemail...
and i wouldn't get it.
I tried keeping my cool when text messagers would send me a text that extended into 2 messages....
but i wouldn't get the second part until the next day...
Or even at all
Or get the first page twice. (and we're all aware about my feelings on that.)
I REALLY tried keeping my anger under control when you would freeze as I tried to text the double page texter about how i didn't recieve the second page to the double page text.
But Telus.
There is truly no excuse for charging me what I've paid
and providing me with a piece of mechanical abortion that doesn't even meet it's basic fundamental purpose.
Telus.
I do not ever turn my phone off...
do you know why?
IN CASE SOMEONE WANTS TO GET A HOLD OF ME YOU PIECES OF SHIT.
I had more people tell me to turn my phone on because your poisonous company couldn't correctly provide me with a product that would fufill it's purpose in my life.
it's simple purpose.
simple.
simple.
purpose.
Someone calls me....and i answer.
because i paid you for that.....and that's what phones do.
a phone really only has one purpose.
But when yours don't recieve phone calls...
then how in the fuck am i supposed to do what i need to do?
How in the fuck....do I plan my day.....based on the fact that I am in posession of a phone that can up and decide without notice....that it's not going to be a phone today.
What in the fuck Telus??
Did you give your phones a fuckin conscience?
An ability to up and decide for itself one day that there had to be more to life?
It's like my goddamm phone had an epiphany one day and just gave the fuck up on recieving phone calls then packed it's shit and moved to New York to be a coked out bloated stage whore.
Thats what you've given me Telus.
A coked out, bloated, stage whore of a mechanical abortion.
Thats a far cry from a FUCKIN TELEPHONE.
And you're responsible for every ounce of it.
But you know what Telus.
We came into this relationship happy.
You were happy screwing others
and I was happy that I didn't own one of your phones.
Well Telus.
I'm happy once again.
Because we're over.
We're through Telus.
It's done.
But all in all I must thank you.
Truthfully and honestly...
for providing me such an incredible confetti show when I finally used your telephone as a baseball.
Who knew that cell phone organs could be so beautifully scattered over a backyard in the sunlight.
So thank you Telus.
I truly beg of you to make your phones bigger and chunkier
so that when others use your phones as a replacement for sports equipment....
they'll be just as happy as i was.
love justin.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
An Open Letter To DayQuil.
I'm currently sick.
I dunno whats wrong with me...
could be flu
could be a cold
but what I do know
is that you, Dayquil, are not doing your job.
I spent money on you Dayquil. Which is like hiring an employee.
I hired you to fix me.
But pack up your shit
cuz you just got a new job in my garbage can.
As a sick individual, the last thing I want....is to be more sick.
Dayquil, you haven't made me more sick, so I'll give you that.
But you certainly haven't made me LESS sick.
Which, if i'm not mistaken, is why i bought you in the first place.
For the $15 I threw down, you'd think that maybe you'd be able to clear up the never ending flow of colored water that seems to find it's way out of my face.
But no Dayquil.
No.
You apparently couldn't dry up my leaky head fluids with a towel.
You've also managed to increase my body temperature at an alarming rate.
I started out this mess of a flu without a fever...WITHOUT.
and every time I think about having to take another one of you...
I can feel a steady increase of forehead heat equivalent to that of which cooks eggs.
Dayquil let me ask you something:
When YOU'RE sick...
have you ever tried to open a package of you?
No, no you have not.
Because its fuckin near IMPOSSIBLE.
I had to use scissors to open your blister packs.
and the SCISSORS couldn't even believe how fuckin hard you were to open.
They were like "dude...this is crazy"
and i was like "ya scissors....i know."
I honestly can't imagine what the fuck you were thinking when you created those space age reinforced steel blister holding cels.
But if I had to guess....
you were probably thinking along the lines of "hey....this easy to open tissue paper that holds a medicine capable of curing nothing needs to be more complicated for the weak and the sick to open...so lets add in some hard plastic that even the plastic company thinks is a bit much."
When I finally DID get a package of you open...
I was quick to discover that the pill I had to swallow
was roughly the size of a small boat.
I even went as far to pile in a bunch of tiny immigrants and float them off the coast of Nova Scotia in hopes they'd find bigger and better things abroad.
And hopefully upon their return
they'll bring me some medication that i can fuckin swallow.
love justin.
I dunno whats wrong with me...
could be flu
could be a cold
but what I do know
is that you, Dayquil, are not doing your job.
I spent money on you Dayquil. Which is like hiring an employee.
I hired you to fix me.
But pack up your shit
cuz you just got a new job in my garbage can.
As a sick individual, the last thing I want....is to be more sick.
Dayquil, you haven't made me more sick, so I'll give you that.
But you certainly haven't made me LESS sick.
Which, if i'm not mistaken, is why i bought you in the first place.
For the $15 I threw down, you'd think that maybe you'd be able to clear up the never ending flow of colored water that seems to find it's way out of my face.
But no Dayquil.
No.
You apparently couldn't dry up my leaky head fluids with a towel.
You've also managed to increase my body temperature at an alarming rate.
I started out this mess of a flu without a fever...WITHOUT.
and every time I think about having to take another one of you...
I can feel a steady increase of forehead heat equivalent to that of which cooks eggs.
Dayquil let me ask you something:
When YOU'RE sick...
have you ever tried to open a package of you?
No, no you have not.
Because its fuckin near IMPOSSIBLE.
I had to use scissors to open your blister packs.
and the SCISSORS couldn't even believe how fuckin hard you were to open.
They were like "dude...this is crazy"
and i was like "ya scissors....i know."
I honestly can't imagine what the fuck you were thinking when you created those space age reinforced steel blister holding cels.
But if I had to guess....
you were probably thinking along the lines of "hey....this easy to open tissue paper that holds a medicine capable of curing nothing needs to be more complicated for the weak and the sick to open...so lets add in some hard plastic that even the plastic company thinks is a bit much."
When I finally DID get a package of you open...
I was quick to discover that the pill I had to swallow
was roughly the size of a small boat.
I even went as far to pile in a bunch of tiny immigrants and float them off the coast of Nova Scotia in hopes they'd find bigger and better things abroad.
And hopefully upon their return
they'll bring me some medication that i can fuckin swallow.
love justin.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
An Open Letter To People With Bad Taste.
a quick note for those in posession of tasteless buds:
there is no excuse for what you have.
Good is not relative.
Good is Good.
a final sentence of advice:
it's called bad taste because we can't stomach it.
love justin.
Monday, August 25, 2008
An Open Letter To Le Chateau.
More like Le SHITeau.
First of all.
how DARE you try to tell me how to spend my money you pretencious provider of all that is wrong with the night life in my town.
I was in need of a tie as I'm attending a wedding on saturday.
After my hunt came up fruitless
I checked your fashion dungeon and much to my surprise you had the tie i wanted.
A bigger surprise awaited me in the form of a the price tag.
$40 for a tie.
$40.
I paid a heating bill once for $40.
a heating bill.
I was warm for an entire month
for $40.
and you want me to fork over a month of warm
for a shitty excuse for sternum protection.
Once I reluctantly purchased your tie
it quickly dawned on me that purchasing your product was a horrible idea.
So I made hast down the mall and found a cheaper tie.
a $20 cheaper tie...
THAT CAME WITH A GODDAMM SHIRT YOU DICKS.
I threw down half of what it cost to buy your tie
and got a tie and a dress shirt.
If there's one thing I've learned in life
it's that shit like that...
doesn't happen.
So I happily jumped onto that wagon of hope.
half the price and twice the merch.
how could I not?
Now Le Shiteau....the problem exists in your "credit or exchange only" policy.
The problem being:
it exists.
and you want people to take it seriously.
When I went to return your fashionably upside down neuce, I was delightfully met with an apology and was pleasantly reassured that there was a men's section for the $40 of my money you were about to put on a gift card (which probablly had some kid with hair better than mine on it having fun in the summer with a girl and a beachball)
Le Shiteau, it's a pretty simple concept really.
I give you money for something and you give me the something.
If I don't want that something, I give it back to you for my money.
You don't get to keep the merchandise and force me to spend my money there again.
I returned your product for a reason!
I don't want to return something I don't want for the chance to have a card that purchases more of what I don't want while you get to resell what I didn't want after you've MADE me respend my money there....
most likely on something I don't want
and will probablly try to return.
You know what I'm sayin Le Shiteau?
Luckily this time
you had an employee working who caved into refunding me once I busted out the "Lady....look at me......what the hell about me says I'll come back here?" speech.
So consider this a warning.
Don't try to pull that shit with me again
or else I'll write ANOTHER letter about your perrier water drinkin fauxhawked ass.
love justin
First of all.
how DARE you try to tell me how to spend my money you pretencious provider of all that is wrong with the night life in my town.
I was in need of a tie as I'm attending a wedding on saturday.
After my hunt came up fruitless
I checked your fashion dungeon and much to my surprise you had the tie i wanted.
A bigger surprise awaited me in the form of a the price tag.
$40 for a tie.
$40.
I paid a heating bill once for $40.
a heating bill.
I was warm for an entire month
for $40.
and you want me to fork over a month of warm
for a shitty excuse for sternum protection.
Once I reluctantly purchased your tie
it quickly dawned on me that purchasing your product was a horrible idea.
So I made hast down the mall and found a cheaper tie.
a $20 cheaper tie...
THAT CAME WITH A GODDAMM SHIRT YOU DICKS.
I threw down half of what it cost to buy your tie
and got a tie and a dress shirt.
If there's one thing I've learned in life
it's that shit like that...
doesn't happen.
So I happily jumped onto that wagon of hope.
half the price and twice the merch.
how could I not?
Now Le Shiteau....the problem exists in your "credit or exchange only" policy.
The problem being:
it exists.
and you want people to take it seriously.
When I went to return your fashionably upside down neuce, I was delightfully met with an apology and was pleasantly reassured that there was a men's section for the $40 of my money you were about to put on a gift card (which probablly had some kid with hair better than mine on it having fun in the summer with a girl and a beachball)
Le Shiteau, it's a pretty simple concept really.
I give you money for something and you give me the something.
If I don't want that something, I give it back to you for my money.
You don't get to keep the merchandise and force me to spend my money there again.
I returned your product for a reason!
I don't want to return something I don't want for the chance to have a card that purchases more of what I don't want while you get to resell what I didn't want after you've MADE me respend my money there....
most likely on something I don't want
and will probablly try to return.
You know what I'm sayin Le Shiteau?
Luckily this time
you had an employee working who caved into refunding me once I busted out the "Lady....look at me......what the hell about me says I'll come back here?" speech.
So consider this a warning.
Don't try to pull that shit with me again
or else I'll write ANOTHER letter about your perrier water drinkin fauxhawked ass.
love justin
Sunday, August 24, 2008
An Open Letter To Dell.
Hello Dell.
How are you?
Listen....come close cuz this is only between you, me and the garbage you sell.
I'm sure you're aware that I spent $900 on your laptop (which I've so lovingly nicknamed "paperweight")
and because I paid so much for it
I expect a certain quality of performance.
Seems like a simple concept right?
A fair amount of flow should equal a laptop of relative performance.
But Dell, you've misled me.
You've misled me so hard.
Instead of receiving something I would consider "useful"
you've provided me with the equivalent of a battery operated handicapped piece of glorified flatscreen shit.
On the list of things I do NOT currently want in my life, "any product from Dell" is like....3rd.
(preceeded only by: a friend that drives a honda civic in second, and herpes in first.)
Your laptop has become such a waste of eyeball time to me
that I actually dug out my PC and set that up.
WHICH by the way
is a goddamm Dell.
Now, I've realized that I will never escape you and your cancerous products that include equally parasitic hardware (windows vista??? are you fuckin KIDDING ME?)
But to make a product this bad for that much, is to openly admit that you're ramming me directly in an exit only hole.
The only thing you ever did RIGHT with this foldable headache, was give it a power button.
Because at least there's a way for me to NOT have to deal with your putrid frustrating garbage.
As September approaches I can't possibly imagine how many students you're about to steal from.
I imagine the numbers will be astronomical.
All students who are more than horny to crack open one of your shitty new "personally colored edgy and fresh" laptops, only to realize they're about as useful as the kid in captain planet who had 'heart' as a power.
By mid school year
the only thing your laptops will be good for is a game of "personally colored edgy and fresh" ultimate frisbee (where the end zones are made of a trash can and the only way to win is to set said trash can on fire.)
So in conclusion Dell,
I hate you.
I hate you to the extreme.
On another note,
I'm selling a laptop.
love justin
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