Tsk, Tsk, Jason...

...do not fuck with an existentionalist. You are doomed and you will shit your pants when I am done with your ass.

I thought I might comfort myself during my demise with some power TV, meaning digital cable. HAH. I shan't go into the butt fucking that poor Jason took when he explained my options. It is, after all, his job. He needs to go back home to momma and let her feed him a head.

I want to empathize with people that take these sorry ass jobs that try to convince people to purchase their product. Sorry. Can't. Ole Jason thought he had my ass. That's the difference between 24 and 54. He was sure he had my ass and a commission was on his way and he could go get a fancy bottle of wine and lay his lady.

Think again. Not on my dollar. Not on my watch.