From outta nowhere at 4am this morning my cell phone started buzzing, and I saw it was a text message. "Oooooooh!" I squealed with glee - obviously a text message at 4am is a booty call, and I wondered which one of my hot, slutty, drunken girl friends wanted to come over and fuck me dry for 4 or 5 hours...an amusing conclusion to spring to when it had happened exactly zero times before, therein making it as arbitrary as assuming that, say, the guy that played Chuck in the first season of Happy Days was texting me. Also, my "squealing with glee" would intimate that I might be awaiting a gentleman suitor anyways. Hmm.
Of course I open it and it's an URGENT message from Chase Bank - call IMMEDIATELY!, as a restriction had been put on my account. "That's odd," I thought to myself, as I slowly closed my phone and placed it on the night stand, holding my hand over mouth deep in thought and knocking out 150 pushups just for the fuck of it, "...why would they contact me at 4am...on a weekend morning...with a text...when I haven't had a bank account since 1992...."
Anyways, I called out of curiosity, and of course got a "what're you doing calling us no, we re-open Monday from 11:00 to 11:15, jackass" recording.
I'm not an expert on solving the financial crisis. No, really. But I hope all the money isn't being poured into the "Text Banking Solutions Program. Grrr.
1 comment:
I'd sue.
"Your honor, my client was having the best dream of his life, ever... only to be interupted by the crual hoax perpetrated by Chase Monolithic Huge Bank, Inc."
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