FOAD, Qwest, part 17

Fucking Qwest, man.

Me:  Move my phone number to the new crib.
Qwest:  GFY, beotch. New location , new number.
Me:   KMA, bastards.  Suck on Cox Digital Phone.  My friend in the digital age.
Qwest:  You still get a new number, asswipe.  Spirit of dick owns you.
Me:  Fine.   Whatev.

Later that day…

Me:  The new phone books are here! The new phone books are here!
Me:  Yay!  Through the magic of Qwest, I can now call 1 800 ASS HATS and  talk to myself for $3.99/minute, without those annoying Verizon surcharges.
Qwest:  Think again, bitch.  We’re billing you, but not actually delivering service.  Spirit of Dick.
Me:  Fix it, bitch.
Qwest:  Oh yeah, we’ll get right on THAT.

Later that eon…

Qwest:  Our wires are the new hotness.  Your wires suck.  Tough shit for you.
Me:  Fuck.
Me:  Oops, your fault.
Apartment:  Think again, pretty boy.  You’re on your own.


Qwest:  Pay us $85 for telling you that you suck, but not fixing anything.  *maniacal laughter*  Oh, did we forget to mention that?
Me:  *scours pawn shops for hijacked nuclear weapons*
Qwest:  Please call 1–855–eat shit with any concerns or comments on this service call…

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