After a slow and agonizing battle with apathy and disgruntledness,
customer service was pronounced dead today at around 3:15 Eastern Standard Time.
Being a long time fan of customer service, I mourned the loss like many,
by asking to speak with customer service's supervisor.
The supervisor promised to call me back, but alas,
I have held my breath until a tinge of blue has enveloped my entire body.
Perhaps the supervisor also fell victim to a similar malady to that which cut short the life of customer service.
I would call back to confirm my suspicions, but I fear that the zombified corpse of customer service might answer the phone and pulverize my brains with a subsonic death rattle.
I have resigned myself to never special order anything ever again.
I have also asked jesus to give me the serinity to accept the fact that
my expectations should remain as low as a hooker's panties
following a night at the bingo parlor.
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