Dr. Faustroll Writes the Wrongs

Flakes was one of the great songs on Sheik Yerbouti, the Frank Zappa 1979 double LP that also contained Broken Hearts Are for Assholes, Bobby Brown Goes Down, Baby Snakes, City of Tiny Lights, Jewish Princess, and Yo’ Mama.

The song begins with something most of us can relate to:

Flakes! flakes!
Flakes! flakes!
They don’t do no good
They never be workin’
When they oughta should
They waste your time
They’re wastin’ mine
California’s got the most of them
Boy, they got a host of them

You can find the complete lyrics to the song here. The truth is that NOMF could as easily stand for a nation of miserable flakes because it is rare these days to be pleased by a service call, even when the call center is not outsourced to the third world or one of those happily brain-damaged Red states like, Texas, Kentucky, or Tennesee.

The Internet has only increased the opportunity for you to have bad interactions with flakes, even without Sarah Palin, who appears to be considering the opportunity to replace Bridge To No Where Stevens — the man who so succinctly described the interweb as “a series of tubes through which much inaccurate information flows.” If he didn’t really say that, what does it matter? Whatever I say he says is always more entertaining than what spewed out of his officially arrogant mouth. I can’t wait to make Sarah understand that what she experienced during the recent campaign was a comedy routine compared to what a World Court might charge her with. Of course, she’s too dumb to get it, and FOX News is making money, so what the hell.

I had terrible service from AOL in the last year before I dropped them a decade ago. Earthlink promised service but never delivered, and they never even bothered to let me know that they could not provide any of the replacement AOL services to the Outpatient Compound that they charged my credit card for. I sent them postcards bombs. They reversed the charges.

DirecWay (acquired by Hughes.net a year or two after I bent over like a good Christian and took it up the poop chute because I did not particularly want to shoot anyone or run them over with my tractor in the driveway) was consistently inept, incompetent, and inattentive. Their third party installers rarely knew what they were doing and often drooled why pondering a simple yes or no question, and when I dumped them for WildBlue, the first two installer visit experiences made me want to move to Canada, although Canada is even stupider than the NOMF, but they haven’t come to grips with it yet.

DirecWay reminded me of a Tech Support moron I once dealt at Atlas Copco, a company whose founding family once saved Jews from some unfortunate calamity involving soapless showers and other deceits, who responded to a ticket about a printer failure by saying “Well, you know, sometimes they just don’t work when you move them. Too many zeroes and not enough ones.”

That was my favorite desk side visit by technical support anywhere during my lifetime. I swear I had nothing to do with his untimely expiration from some obscure cancer of the pineal gland, because if I did, I’d be using the same technique to get even with hundreds of other incompetent flakes all the way up to the lameduck First Idiot and his handlers, assuming we’ll ever find out who they are. It’s obvious Laura doesn’t have a clue. Read to us, Laura! How is that pet goat? What would Barney do?

Right now, I’m fighting with Lowe’s over an extended protection plan that has failed either to repair or replace a Samsung refrigerator that periodically sounds like a 1967 MGB I once owned after extreme front end damage caused my leaving the road at 115 MPH and finding my predetermined tree in the forest. For now, I’ve sworn off any future purchase from Lowe’s, and I am specifically and adamantly advising anyone considering to purchase an extended protection policy from this dysfunctional and incompetent bunch of morons to play the lottery instead.

You could do worse. Hell, you could be a swinger of birches. You could realize that voting only makes you culpable because the accident of birth is no more binding than the original contract in Eden. You could entertain the thought that perhaps the planet is too crowded by too many wishes and gladhands and retaliations and hope and not enough simple discussion about what is really right in a world gone so irretrievably wrong.

Not that it will make any difference. Don’t try to push your optimistic cynical view off on me, and I won’t drop my bomb near you when I finally get it to work.