We work for the same large telecommunications company, you on the management side, myself in customer service. You call me, during work hours, on what is widely known as the busiest, most hectic, and stressful day of the week to make changes to your personal account. From the get-go, I've thought you were an idiot. How right I am.

I can do your request in three and a half minutes, baby. No big deal. But fuck me, lady... an hour later, you're chewing my ass out for your frustrations with available company resources and your own needless indecision--after I've spent 20 times the effort needed to satisfy even the most relentless moron.

After escalating your vomitous complaints and endless insults to my boss, you still can't get your way and decide to flog me another 15 minutes before you get off my fucking phone.

I've got you pegged as a great cholesterol basin of a woman with double chins all the way down to your stomach. Endowed with a garish horror show of a mug, I'll bet you powder your face white enough to look like a bled pig. You have a mouth like a leech. Punishing foot odor and sour milk breath are your best assets, and your doughy, ponderous frame probably looks like it's been through a lifetime of unscrupulous gluttony and beastly sexual antics.

It's no wonder you work from home because no one can stand to see you walk on two legs like the rest of the humans. The local children run screaming from the streets as you lumber by.

You can keep your lunatic ramblings and your bourgeois management job, sweetheart. But I always want you to remember this: The higher a monkey climbs, the more you can see of its ass.

Thanks for calling.--Anonymous