An Open Letter to Ticketmaster
Dear Ticketmaster,
Go fuck yourself.
If I ever see you on the street, I'm going to hit you in the nads with a brick.
And then, when you call for help, I am going to ask you to decipher a bunch of random letters and numbers on a patchwork background before I let you try to get an icepack. This little methodology helps to avoid unfair use of automated calls for help. See? I'm here for the little people.
Once you finally translate my incoherent code, I'm going to make you ask for help for your swollen and painful yambags again.
And even though you want help, any help at all (you're not picky after all, because I have stomped your balls into oblivion), I'm going to tell you that I was unable to find any help at all that satisfied your request. Even though I just conducted my majestic and pulverizing assault on your lemons mere nanoseconds prior and there seems to be a lot of help available...just none for you.
Sounds absurd, doesn't it? Inconceivable even?
Of course it does.
But wait. It gets better.
Not only will I tell you that I regrettably cannot fulfill your request for help (I apologize for the inconvenience, by the way), but if you ask for help too many times, I punch you in the chops and tell you that you can't ask for help again for several minutes. How many is "several"? Well, dear Ticketmaster, that's for me to know and you to find out.
Want to know what the kicker is (besides the one I levied quickly and authoritatively to your manjunk)?
I've given help to tons of other people who don't even need help. But, I'm sure, they are willing to sell you the help you need for a price FAR above the going rate for testical restoration.
Sound fair?
So, if I see you walking down the street, Ticketmaster, prepare to cry like a eunuch and to have an eternal feeling "down there" like when you were thirteen and watched Skinemax After Dark's "Emmanuelle" marathon for so long you thought you were going to explode.
And consider us even.
For today.
But in the meantime, feel free to eat a bowl of dicks.
Love, Dim.
Go fuck yourself.
If I ever see you on the street, I'm going to hit you in the nads with a brick.
And then, when you call for help, I am going to ask you to decipher a bunch of random letters and numbers on a patchwork background before I let you try to get an icepack. This little methodology helps to avoid unfair use of automated calls for help. See? I'm here for the little people.
Once you finally translate my incoherent code, I'm going to make you ask for help for your swollen and painful yambags again.
And even though you want help, any help at all (you're not picky after all, because I have stomped your balls into oblivion), I'm going to tell you that I was unable to find any help at all that satisfied your request. Even though I just conducted my majestic and pulverizing assault on your lemons mere nanoseconds prior and there seems to be a lot of help available...just none for you.
Sounds absurd, doesn't it? Inconceivable even?
Of course it does.
But wait. It gets better.
Not only will I tell you that I regrettably cannot fulfill your request for help (I apologize for the inconvenience, by the way), but if you ask for help too many times, I punch you in the chops and tell you that you can't ask for help again for several minutes. How many is "several"? Well, dear Ticketmaster, that's for me to know and you to find out.
Want to know what the kicker is (besides the one I levied quickly and authoritatively to your manjunk)?
I've given help to tons of other people who don't even need help. But, I'm sure, they are willing to sell you the help you need for a price FAR above the going rate for testical restoration.
Sound fair?
So, if I see you walking down the street, Ticketmaster, prepare to cry like a eunuch and to have an eternal feeling "down there" like when you were thirteen and watched Skinemax After Dark's "Emmanuelle" marathon for so long you thought you were going to explode.
And consider us even.
For today.
But in the meantime, feel free to eat a bowl of dicks.
Love, Dim.
posted by Dim at 2/21/2008 12:31:00 PM
13 Comments:
I get the feeling you needed - and did not get - help from Ticketmaster, and you're mildly pissed.
Am I right?
Your open letter made me laugh out loud...I especially enjoyed the various vocabulary in reference to the "manjunk" you had whacked unceremoniously with a brick. Good stuff.
As a representative from the Ticketmaster corporation, we take grea offense at your slanderous diatribe posted to this site. We regret that you had a negative experience and our interests are certainly interested in working to rectify the situation. Please cease and desist immediately with any further misrepresentations and attacks on our client.
Sincerely,
Robert Howell, ESQ.
Sounds like we need a congressional hearing on this matter.
Dear Mr. Howell,
I cannot fulfill your request at this time. Please try again later or change your criteria. Sorry for any incovenience.
- Dim
P.S. Learn the definition of slander before you come back here, son.
You're the funniest, Dim. Also, Mr. Howell might want to proofread his comments before he posts, since he IS a professional. "Grea" is actually spelled g-r-e-a-t.
Have no fear, dear B. For the not-so-esteemed Mr. Howell has been exposed as a FRAUD (Friend Rambunctiously Accosting and Undermining Dim).
I knew pretty much right away it was a joke and knew who the prankster was pretty quickly.
No need to involve Congress. They have more important things to do, like play police for roided out ballplayers.
- D.
I know, I just wanted to play along. I assumed it was March, but I could be wrong. Thank you for humoring us!
i take it the pre-sale was a dud...F- tm.com.
also march knows the pains of TMaster and never pokes fun..cuz it will only come back to him!
Dear B,
As a representative of Dim's friend, I would like you to cease and desist with any further grammar police attacks. It was a typo and we all knew what it meant so let it go. Like you never made a typo?
Sincerely,
Robert Howell, ESQ
Not to pour lemon juice in the paper cut, but there should be a comma between "meant" and "so".
Just sayin'.
- D.
another dim classic....
I like this Robert Howell guy. Yes, I make plenty of typos. :)
Brilliant!
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