Viking Conquest

Recently, I moved from my old apartment to a new place.  I originally decided to make the move for a conglomeration of three reasons:
1. My apartment had electric heat and poor insulation, so I damn near had to sell my organs on the black market to be able to afford the winter electric bills (to keep the temperature between 55 and 60).
2. New neighbors moved in, and they are punk boners.  They would generally cram at least 10 douchebags into a studio apartment and then skateboard throughout the night outside my window while smoking.  In fact the cops were called on them for noise complaints a few times (not by me, but I'm not going to lie and say I wasn't amused by the fact that cops came).  In fact, once, the cops said to the rat bastards, "Keep it down because if you don't, we'll be back with a warrant, and from outside, we can smell things you don't want us finding."
3. My landlord tried to raise my rent by a ridiculous amount.  I know for a fact that there are other people in the complex with upgraded appartments that were paying about $100 less than what they wanted from me for my old crappy one with the non-sliding door and the cracked two-toned ceiling.  (Sidenote: I told the landlord that the door didn't slide open two years ago, and when I drove past the old apartment after I moved out, they were completely replacing the door.  Just in the nick of time!)

This story, however, is not about the reasons for leaving.  It is instead a tale about the new place.  A few days after I moved in, I found a little "Welcome Gift" from the old occupants.  I woke up one day with some little red marks on my ankles that itched like the dickens.  I suspected I knew what the culprits were, but I wasn't sure.  Then, I found one.  The old occupants gave me fleas!

Needless to say, I called the local pest control company; the flea army drew the first blood, so it was time for war.  Anyway, the consultant came out for a consultation and to give me a quote.  A few days later, I had an appointment for a technician to eradicate the non-fleeing force.  Both the technician and the consultant told me that after treatment, there was a thirty day guarantee of results, and the technician told me before he began treatment that I would need to vacuum every day for the next two weeks to combat the fleas.  Then, I told him where the fleas were, and he went to work.

I came back after the requisite amount of time had elapsed, and I vacuumed, as I was instructed.  After doing this for eight days, I received a bill showing a balance due (which was absurd because I had paid in full the day of the treatment).  Confused, I called the company to inquire.  The discussion went like this:

FSG: I received a bill, but I paid in full, so I'm having a tough time wrapping my head around a balance due.
Phonetard: We waived that, so you're okay.
FSG: Let me ask you one more thing.  How long after treatment should I start stopping seeing fleas?
Phonetard: About a week.
FSG: Hmm.  It's been eight days.
Phonetard: Let me check the file.
[pause]
Phonetard: You got the one time treatment, so there's no guarantee with that.
FSG: Say that to my good ear?  Both the technician and the consultant said that there would be.  I didn't pay for your company to come out, treat part of my house (the invoice showed that the technician didn't even go into the basement, where I told him I was experiencing a problem).  I paid for you to complete the job.
Phonetard: I'll talk with my manager and give you a call tomorrow.
FSG: Okay.

When I hung up, I was a mix of peeved and proud; I was peeved for obvious reasons, and I was proud that I was able to abstain from referring to Phonetard as a "eunuch."  How can a company come out, not do their job, then tell you that they were kidding about the guarantee of results?  Anyway, the next day, another company representative called back to discuss how we would move forward:

Nice phone person: I know you spoke to [Phonetard] yesterday, and it turns out you were right.  There is a guarantee.  We can get out to you on Tuesday (this would be 13 days after the original treatment) after the holiday weekend.
FSG: Part of the reason I'm still having this problem is that the technician didn't spray the whole house, so I think you can come out tomorrow.
Nice phone person: Let me check the schedule.
[checks schedule]
Nice phone person: You're right.  We can come out tomorrow!
FSG: Thank you.  I appreciate your help.

Anyway, Friday, the new technician came out, and I explained to him that I wanted him to spray all the rugs and carpets.  The way I see it, I am not calling the Viking people for company...I have enough of that with the fleas.  He said he would, and I thanked him before leaving.

Now, I'm left to hope that the problem is actually solved.  If it's not, I can almost guarantee another post.


-FSG

                   

On the Backs of Angels

I must say that I'm eagerly anticipating the arrival of September, the 13th specifically.  That's the day that one of my favourite bands (okay, that's an understatement) will unleash their newest album (eleventh studio recording), A Dramatic Turn of Events, on the world.  Naturally, with Mike Portnoy having left the band, I am extremely curious to see what the new sound will be.  The iconic drummer was, in my mind, the heart and soul of the band as well as its creative mastermind.

Today, my curiosity was somewhat appeased with the release of the first single from A Dramatic Turn of Events.  From the first listen, I absolutely love On the Backs of Angels.  It's got the glorious amalgamation of ballsiness and musicianship I have come to love with this band.  I can't wait to hear the rest of the album!

-FSG

Weiner, Weiner, Chicken Deiner!

I'm still low on internet (although that should be remedied in the near future), so I must be brief, but I couldn't resist schlepping across the parking lot to secure the use of an unsecured network for this story.

Please tell me I'm not the only person who finds it absurdly hilarious that the dude's name is "Weiner."


-FSG

Ankles =/= Modesty

I'm briefly back with a couple of posts before I go back to the land of the unconnected.  In today's post, I'd like to bring light to an article I read recently that I found quite amusing.  I thought that women were supposed to be completely modest and more than fully clothed.  Apparently, I'm wrong.

Now, I must speculate.  We have been told that it's seen by the Taliban and many extremists that it is a crime for women to show their ankles.  So, I'm left to wonder what this porn could be like.  I'd bet the stash is comprised of either women's feet (and slightly North of there (but no calves...let's not go crazy) OR naked women wearing socks.  I haven't figured out which yet though.

-FSG

Lacking the Internets

The past few days, I've had limited internet connectivity at best, so that is the reason for the lack of posts.  Worry not.  As soon as the problem is rectified, there will be a slew of posts.  It's kind of like holding in a poop in a way.  The more you hold it, the more it builds up, and then BAM.  It all comes out!  Pardon the analogy...It was just the most apt way to express the situation.


-FSG

Mighty "The Steve Irwin" Mullet

It's time for a double header of Mighty Mullet!  Enjoy.

-FSG

Mighty "Hot Legs" Mullet

-FSG