Dear person who decided that it was a very good idea to allow telemarketers to call cell phones.
I sincerely hope that during one of your boring, weekely, predetermined, missionary position love making sessions your partner moves funny and bruises your testicles causing pain and swelling for some reason just won’t get better.
I hope the swelling continues for days. I hope when you check your bank balance after the direct deposit of the check that pays you for the work you do to be the most evil and corrupt human being on the planet your balls throb as they strain against your cheap wool blend slacks.
I pray that every time your phone rings it is at least two half brain dead college kids desperately trying to pay for beer, tuition, weed, rent, pizza and more beer on the sub-minimum wage salary they earn. I hope they keep you on the phone trying to wrangle you in to answering a few questions about your satisfaction with your checking account. Did you know you just won 2 tickets to Cancun?? Did you? All expenses paid! Two tickets to Cancun! They just need your credit card number and your soul. Oh, right, you don’t have a fucking soul.
You will get so many calls that you will go over your alloted cell minutes quickly and then not only will you take it in the ass from all the telemarketers who want to tell you about this fantastic business opportunity but also your cell phone company will want to get in on the action.
It’ll be a financial DP and I hope I’m there to film it. The money shot should be killer.
I hate you.
On the bright side I get to freak out telemarketer kids. I’ve gotten 3 so far (and I’m on the fucking do not call list).