C'mon, teleterrorist - make my day

Those of you who've been reading for any length of time know how I feel about telemarketers.

But I think this  takes the cake.

Rude callees are part of the telemarketing industry.  You just disconnect and move onto the next caller.  Maybe you say a quick prayer for the person who slammed the phone down on your ear.

But whatever you do...you DO NOT EVER  get the callee's name/address and send that person a threatening letter!!!

Like this one did.

Rather than Fisk the story, I'm going to address this son-of-a-bitch directly and Fisk the letter he wrote to that Detroit lady:

Before you are rude to another telemarketer, you should keep in mind that he or she has your phone number and your address.

Here's mine, you filthy little fucknozzle:  5330 Bent Tree Forest Dr, #712, Dallas, Texas.  Come on by and see how rude-assed some one can really  be.

Many of them live in your own state and most don't give a (expletive)!

Yeah, well, I notice that you  apparently live in my state.  Why do I get the feeling that you give enough of a fuck  that you don't want me slamming your ugly-assed face into a brick wall???

So, Ms. Beyer, the next time a telemarketer calls and you don't want to be bothered, a simple "not interested" will do.

Lemme tell you  something, asshole:  Call me  and I'll give you a Hell™ of a lot more than Ms. Beyer gave you, you fucking coward.

Your son or daughter or next-door neighbor's daughter could very well be a telemarketer.  A handicapped, wheelchair-bound person could be a telemarketer.  A biker or ex-con is more likely to be a telemarketer.

I'm not so sure about that, fuckface.  Those whom you just mentioned usually have a lot more brains and self-esteem than to move down to your level.

You really, really shouldn't (expletive) with them!

You're reeeeeal brave hiding behind your CRT in that boiler room of yours, now aren't you, nancy-boy?  Maybe you'd like to come back up your bullshit, eh?  You know - take on someone who'll fight back?

Oh, wait.  Sorry - that'd require balls  on your part.

As they say in the telemarketing industry, "Have a good day Ms. Beyer!"

And as I  like to say around here, you cowardly fuck:  "Come say it to my face, chickenshit!!!"

Now here's  a strike I'd endorse!  :-)

One of my favorite bumper stickers is a number that reads "Let your teenagers get jobs now - while they still know everything."

Can you tell I'm not too fond of uppity teenagers? (Yes, I'm of the old-school "children should be seen and not heard" mind - so sue me.)

So it warmed my heart greatly this morning - well, sort of - to see that at least one set of parents is fighting back against a pair of teen/pre-teen crumb-crunchers who think they rule the roost down in Florida...

Even though the dishes, garbage and dirty laundry were piling up, homeowners Cat and Harlan Barnard were getting no help from their two children.

Let me guess - they were too busy with Xbox, Playstation 2 or bleating away on their cell phones to so much as lift a finger to clean up a dust bunny.

After begging and pleading with their 17-year-old son and 12-year-old daughter to help out around the house, the Barnards decided they were fed up. So they went on strike -- and moved out to the front yard.

"This was our last-ditch effort," Cat Barnard said.

Well, no - it wasn't your last-ditch effort - but I'll touch on that in a moment.

Since Monday morning, the Barnards have lived in a tent in their front yard, going inside the house only to use the restroom or shower. The couple sits on lawn chairs and roasts marshmallows over a hibachi.

Y'know, that's just wrong on so many levels.  And if it wasn't for b@$4@rd$ like those at Child Abductive Services, we could do what everyone knows we'd love  to do - let them  live in the back yard.

But maybe that's just me...

Their children were confused on the first day when they came home from school. "It's extremely inconvenient," said their son, Ben Barnard. "Every time the phone rings, we have to run outside to give it to them."

Oh, you po' widdle babies.

Look at it this way - you're doing more than getting the phone for the people who SACRIFICED THEIR @$$3$ OFF TO RAISE YOU UNGRATEFUL TWITS!!!  Naw, you're just training for your new career - as a seven-dollar-an-hour call-center rep/switchboard operator for companies run by folks who actually have a fire  lit under their @$$3$.

Whether the couple's actions could be regarded as abandonment depends on how much guidance the parents are still providing and "if the children are suffering as a result," said Carrie Hoeppner, a spokeswoman with the Department of Children & Families in Orange County.

Bimbo, whether your asinine comments could be regarded as worthy of having you strung up on a street lamp depends on whether or not you keep your filthy-@$$3d paws off those kids and stay the Hell™ outta that family's business, I'd say.

But Cat Barnard says the strike may already be paying dividends. She noted that her daughter washed her own clothes for the first time on Tuesday.

"This is war," Cat Barnard said. "I love my babies, but I don't like what they're doing."

Awright, here's where I get back to your "last-ditch effort" idea:  Did it ever occur to you two - oh, I dunno - to SPANK THE LIVING $#14 OUT OF THOSE PAMPERED, SNOT-NOSED LITTLE BRATS?

I mean...geez.  Are their precious heinies too delicate...their sensitivies too fragile  for their butts to be tested  once in a while?

I guarantee you, Denizens - the reason these moronic little rugrats are as uppity as they are is because they've been coddled  all their sorry lives.  Cat & Harlan, I promise you, have very few times ever said "No" to these stupid kids, and never, ever  told them "Because I said so, that's why."

Had they done so, it never would've come to this - and I'd be looking for something else to blog on today.

So let that be a lesson to you parents:  Spare the rod, wind up living in a tent like a homeless person on your own property.

Or you can actually discipline  your children and have 'em grow up to make you proud of 'em.

Your choice.