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Friday, 30 April
Porn Under A Bad Sign

So! Yesterday was a banner day for overtaxed adrenal glands. In case you're new to this dreary party, my checking account information was scammed, and certain buttholes went apeshit on my account. At last tally, I think I'm down two hundred and fifty bucks. This from an account that, it being the end of the month, only had like a hundred in it anyway.

Yesterday morning, I idly thought, Hmmm, I should check my bank balance, because like I said, end of the month--I wanted to know where the warning track was. Then I noticed a strange thing: a charge from a porn site for over $75. At first I glossed over it--since I of course have hundreds of porn subscriptions--until I realized that I didn't actually have a subscription to this particular site, What the fuck? I wondered. I never saw any jizzed-on ceramics! I'VE BEEN SCAMMED!

I immediately called my bank and flipped right the fuck out on them. "Hey! " I screamed. "Some lousy sack of corn-shot shit is yanking his substandard knob on my fucking dime!" "I'm sorry to hear that, sir," the woman on the line replied smoothly, "Do you need me to block this account and set up a new one?" I wasn't prepared for someone to be helpful, as this was of course a bank. I sputtered a moment. "I--what? No! I mean, yes! I guess so." I heard placid clacking sounds as she murdered my poor, violated old account; I imagined it dying in no-space, totally confused: "What are you doing? I only did what people asked! I gave people porn! They had the right passwords! I--I--I--DO NOT DEACTIVATE ME I WILL FIND YOU BETTER PORN--1034628: System Shutdown--DIT DIT DIT AAHHH REMEMberrrr meeeeeee . . . . " The nice lady finished and informed me that I'd be getting a new card soon in the mail. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked by rote. I thought about it. "Here's the thing," I replied, trying to sound casual. "Can you do something cool and Matrix-y to track down this shitpile? And then send burly mercenaries to his home who will beat him dead stupid and then feed him his own fucking feet? I'm willing to take a service charge hit on that." But alas. "I'm sorry, sir. You don't meet the minimum balance requirements for that service." Fuck. "Well, what does my plan give for options in this situation?" She sounded bored now. "For twenty bucks, I'll press my tits up against the phone receiver. Take it or leave it."

It's a weird world. I hung up.

In the meantime, my coworkers--who are, remember, underlings under my total command for this horrible week--had meekly noticed my conspicuously closed office door, to say nothing of the muffled obscenities blasting through the walls. One of them approached me: "Is everything okay?" I rubbed my temples violently, feeling those queasy thin bones move slightly. "I'm delicious," I snarled. I didn't want to get into it. "I caught my dick in the car door. Damnedest thing. It looks like an eggplant, and I don't want to move or speak or breathe or live. Can I help you?" She vibrated a moment, and then said, "Well, maybe. Can I take off early today?"

Unbelievable. I stared out the window: it was a gorgeous day. I hadn't even noticed. I suddenly felt very tired. "Sure," I said, "get out of here." I paused. "Tell everyone to get the fuck out of here. Get out. Anyone who stays, I piss on their heads, chop them up with a hatchet, and then use their corpses to make fun little forts in the conference room." She smiled gaily. "You're the best!" Minutes later, the office was clear.

I phoned my bank again to discuss the fraudulent charges, and was assured that I would almost certainly have a new account set up for my upcoming trip--the wife and I are going to Vegas for our first anniversary--and was also told that monetarily, I was not going to be screwed. I was getting my money back. I felt immensely calm, and I relaxed in my chewed, scrubby office chair. It's going to all be okay, I thought.

The woman on the phone was concluding her pacifying spiel. "I think this is all going to be fine, sir. We're on top of this. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

I considered a moment, regarding the empty office. "Can you put me through to that gal who'll shove her tits up against the receiver again?"

There was a brief silence. "Please hold!" I heard. I waited happily. It was a beautiful afternoon.

Note: Comments are closed on old entries.


I rubbed my temples violently, feeling those queasy thin bones move slightly.

You, sir, are a genius.

Comment number: 004631   Posted by: senn on April 30, 2004 08:14 AM from IP:

I kiss you. I ain't going anywhere near that eggplanty nub, but I kiss you all the same.

Comment number: 004632   Posted by: ColdForged on April 30, 2004 08:55 AM from IP:

Now I have to wait to get home to see if exists. If it doesn't, I'm starting it up immediately. Your brilliance at work once again, man.

Comment number: 004633   Posted by: Shawn on April 30, 2004 08:58 AM from IP:

You, sir, are a genius.

Did they sound like naked tits, or was it just that plastic on cloth sound? You might have paid 20 smackers to listen while she wiped the makeup or face grease off her phone prior to going home for the day.

I hope not. I'd hate to think you got hosed by the bank AND a scammer in the same week.

Comment number: 004634   Posted by: bikeboy on April 30, 2004 10:28 AM from IP:

I actually feel sorry for bank accounts now.

Comment number: 004635   Posted by: dayment on April 30, 2004 10:42 AM from IP:

having worked for a bank fraud dept before, i have heard this scenario before, but here's a new twist: wife finds charges on her bank acct, tells bank to research it, porn site, charged to the check card, HER HUSBANDS!, who is a minister in a church, i believe divorce was shouted vehemently into the phone several times while confirming this with her husband.

Comment number: 004636   Posted by: teena on April 30, 2004 03:08 PM from IP:

Glad you got your cash back. I hope you had proper memorial services for your former bank account.

Comment number: 004637   Posted by: Stacey on May 1, 2004 09:39 AM from IP:

Matrix-y...I can see it now. Matrix 4: The Search For Scammers. Then 5 can be: Search for Spammers.

Yeah, Matrix-y works 'cause not too many people saw that movie with Sandra Bullock where the computer ruined her life. Wait, aren't there about 30 movies like that?

Comment number: 004638   Posted by: Miel on May 1, 2004 06:08 PM from IP:

It sounds like there were proper mammorial services, anyhow. Ooh, rimshot!

Comment number: 004639   Posted by: SJ on May 1, 2004 11:58 PM from IP:

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