You Gotta Be Shittin Me!

Yesterday I got a phone call on our landline at home.



I never get calls on my land line unless its my mum because firstly she's one of the few who actually have the number and secondly we mostly use it for the internet connection.


Anyhoo, Saturday afternoon and the phone rings and My Boerewors picks it up. I know immediately that its not my mum by the tone of voice he uses and the fact that he hands me the phone with a complete straight poker face.


and that's all I really listened to. The Bitch went on for ages yakking in a monotone voice about life insurance, insurance for my life insurance and whatever other fucking insurance she could blab about. Eventually I held the phone away from my ear because this Yakkity-Ann wasn't coming up for a fuckin' breath.


"Hi Mrs Hefer this is Janelle from Liberty Life. If I could have a few minutes of your time to tell you about ....."


I think they purposesly employ candidates with large lung capacities just in case you want to get a word in anywhere in the conversation. They hardly take a breath between sentenses and don't even wait for cues from you that you're actually listening.


Eventually, I put the handset down on the couch next to me while Liberty Fadoodle blethered on for another few minutes. Kaylin (my five year old) saw all this happening and took it upon herself to pick up the phone and say one word to Liberty Bagpuss.


"Yebo?!"


Yebo means Yes in Zulu.


I couldn't stop laughing...


...guess what


The annoyinng Fur Burger called back a few hours later to talk to me again and went through the entire schpeel again..


I SHIT YOU NOT!


Rinse Repeat.
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Mid-week Hormonal Rant

Most of us really try to be nice.  However, nice is boring and little sunbeams are easy to be around, but they annoy the shit outta me.

Blame it on hormones, but these irritations tend to become fixtures and will always rear their ugly little heads.  I therefore climb up on my wee blog platform, so get ready with the list of things that drive me fucking insane.

Address me as M’am and I might just bite yer fucking head off.

I could really have heart failure when someone calls me Deary or Lovie or better yet M’am.  I’m not your lovie, dearie, sweetie and I most definitely am NOT your fucking M’am.  Did I not just tell you my name when I answered my phone?  Call me by my name, demmit.  My mum thought long and hard about that name for me – use it! 

I get the frikken hiebiejiebies when someone tries to cold call me for better insurance or life cover and they start reading a script from a piece of paper.  You can hear it straight away!  You can’t fool me, Fuckers.  I love to throw these kind of telesales people off their rhythm by asking dumb questions so that they loose their place on their script sheet.  Oh I know I’m wicked.  Sometimes I interrupt them to tell them to Bugger off but when I feel like really pissing them off, I hold the phone by my ear while they ramble off their prepared schpeel and they are left parched and waiting for answers. I love to announce after 10 minutes that I’m not interested.  Telesales is the worst job EVA!

“Free Gifts”.  Pleeeeeeeez!

What gift is NOT free?

Take a second and THINK about that one…

Just say “gift”, finished and klaar.  Why do marketers try to come in the back door and schmooz us with this Free Gift story?  Cosmetic houses are famous for this.  Buy R200 worth of products and get a free gift.  Then its not free it is?  It’s a bonus.  This urks me when I see the TV commercials coming on telly with the flash in the corner of the screen and the cheesy bloke announces “But… that’s not all…if you call now….” Urgh!  Can I just beat you to a pulp right here and now?

Oh! And those 22 kg anorexic bitches that nibble on a cracker and complain bitterly that they are so fat and that they really need to lose weight.  Come girlie, I’ll show you what a fat arse looks like.  Just put on yer thong bikini and stop whining that your hip bones aren’t protruding enough yet.  I instantly HATE you.

Ex Smokers are the worst.  They want to lecture me on the risks of smoking and what methods they used to stop and how long they have been nicotine free.  They pull their nose up when someone within a 30 feet radius lights up.  They fan themselves to keep the fumes moving in another direction or peg their nose and say “urgh”.  Please don’t try and save me.  Its my choice.  I’m killing myself.  So stop inhaling the fucking smoke I paid for!

How about the people who always have a story better than yours?  The kind that if you’ve been hi-jacked, they’ve been shot in the head, twice!  If you’ve got a headache, they’ve got a flippen migraine.  The know-it-all who is full of facts and never ceases to flap their lips incessantly and let spew out all over the conversation at EVERY opportunity.  I have a name for these guys - Wankers.  What makes them so superior?  Like they are doing us a favour by being put here on the planet to out-do us – every time? These are the plonkers that always have to have the last word not matter what.

Isn’t it amazing how much better we feel after a good rant.  Now I’m gonna have a cuppa caffine, with a fag and I’m gonna read all your comments about your gripes.

Ready?

Stead?

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