Le maudit Mo D.

Answer the phone!

I'm in the midst of a one-sided war with the owner of an online custom brassiere maker who has failed to issue a $170 refund to me since last June. I've tried to be nice about it, but after seven months, all I want is for this bitch to give me my money. My inner Smiffie tells me to be kindly and handle the situation with kid gloves, since I do not want to behave in an unsupportive manner to a woman/minority owned business, but FUCK THIS THIEVING CUNT! Give me my money! I don't care how many $200 corsets you have to make for the hefty bitches of the world! This deformed customer is ANGRY! And everytime I call you, you don't answer your goddamn phone. You don't return my messages. You don't respond to my e-mails. I sent this woman a snailmail letter AND reported her ass to the Better Business Bureau, and not a peep.

I also sent my films off to the #2 pectus fixer dude a month ago. I called his office yesterday to see if he had indeed received the video tour of my thorax and letter, and his secretary said she'd follow up and get back to me today and she didn't call, and then I called her and she didn't answer the phone, so I left a message, and you know the rest. MY BOWL HURTS! What if I was post-surgical and my chest was locked up and I couldn't breathe--then what? The other doctor, who I don't think I am going to go with, as he is on the verge of retirement, was very prompt in his response. Hmmm.

Really, my bowl does hurt. It just kind of gets sore off and on.

CHZZA CHAD S? Do you read this? Chad, one of the best minds of my generation, is one of my favorite bloggers ever, and he hasn't updated the blog that I am aware of in seven months, so I am wondering if he is still sharing his loveliness over the interweb or if he's gone underground or what. Maybe he friendslocks all of his entries, and I am not a friend. I thought we were friends, or at least acquaintances. Chad was a very clean and useful houseguest of mine back in '03. If anyone knows where he is, let me know.