A Comic Tragedy

Good Fucking Morning..

Comictragedy — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 12:11:32 GMT

Oh. YAY. And Good Fucking Morning to you TOO Mr Recycle Bin Pick Up Man.

No, I don't want you to worry about the fact that it's only 4fucking30 in the goddamn morning and that I was finally able to fall asleep for those 10 whole minutes before you came bellowing down the street. Please don't let my SOUL. CRUSHING. INSOMNIA stop you from your dutiful rounds as you BANG and CRASH those goddamn little blue boxes full of bottles into the catcher of your oil belching, screeching, behemoth of a vehicle.

Certainly I understand you have your job to do. God knows it's probably not the best job in the world; but, oh, HEY, at least you're fucking employed. However, it's evident you're not too pleased with your lot in life because we go through this same shit every BUTT CRACK OF DAWN Wednesday morning. You come racing through my neighborhood for no other reason than to SLAM on your brakes each and every time you stop. Yeah. THOSE brakes. The ones you probably should have gotten checked, oh, say, FOUR LAYERS AGO when there was still some semblance of pads on the rotors. The ones that scrape METAL to METAL in such a wonderous way as to rip through my ear drums and leave them bleeding as the sound makes its way into my brain and turns it to sludge from the vibration.

Oh. And please don't let the dark houses on the street get in the way of your OUTSIDE VOICE while you discuss some drunken, sexual escapade with your, obviously, still impaired co-worker. Certainly, WE'RE ALL UP NOW.

And JUST when I thought I could try and bury my head under the pillows, here comes my NEW friend; Mr Utility Service Man with the Jackhammer. I must say now that you're not DIRECTLY in front of my house hammering up the concrete of my sidewalk, I can BARELY hear you anymore. The fact that my windows are shaking so hard that I worry they will implode is none of your concern. And those coffee breaks where the 10 of you are laughing and talking your *man* talk at full voice isn't interferring with my desire to find REM sleep AT. ALL.

Oh; and, of course, tomorrow is TRASH. DAY.

And people wonder why I'm not allowed to own a gun..

What's Up Wid Dat??

Comictragedy — Wed, 27 May 2009 21:30:47 GMT

So, look. I had a miserable, long weekend and I'm not quite up to par yet. Not all maudlin and stuff. More like, grumblegrumblefuckeveryonegrumble sorta thing.

First, I didn't get a mug this week. I mean, how could I NOT? I post 10 comments in 10 minutes! I don't need to wait the whole week to qualify! *UPDATE* Um. Forget I said this part. I DID get my mug. Just a little late. I am just TWO FUCKING WEEKS AWAY FROM OWNING MY OWN LITTLE MUGOLA!

Second. I finally had to get an insurance quote yesterday for the cars. I've been over paying for years now and I just never did the work. It's my own fault; I knew I could get less expensive insurance; but the quote I got is HALF OF WHAT I PAY NOW! I should be shot.

Third. I'm dropping off my mommy guilt at the landfill today. The Spawn have spent the last of it and there aren't any reserves. I'm a little afraid of this decision. I don't know how long it might be, if ever, that I talk to them again. They are certainly happy enough to just cut me out of their life. They've always known I would just be hanging around waiting for them to reappear. Listen, don't misunderstand me. I will ALWAYS be there for them. I'm just saying I'm tired of beating myself up for mistakes made or unmade; and I may not just hang around anymore.

Oh, and finally. I'm fat. Like. Fat. And it just pisses me off. I can't do anything about it because it has nothing to do with what or how much or when I eat. AND IT'S JUST NOT FUCKING FAIR. So, I'm like, hungry.

Perhaps you could reconsider..

Comictragedy — Mon, 18 May 2009 10:59:38 GMT

I really love to read as many articles on PNN as I can. It's not that your headline caught my attention or that I agree with your position. I just like reading them to see your style; how you bring your thoughts to fruition. In fact, I will admit that I've read some articles and wanted to comment and then had to press the delete button and literally close out the entire page to make sure I don't respond at all.

Also, I, just like everyone else, want to make my pages unique; cute. I tried out all the different backgrounds and styles until I thought I found the ones that best portrayed me or the thoughts I would convey in that section.

But, I have to admit, there are some pages I don't read at all. Oh, I want to read them; but I can't. The reason I can't is because you've chosen a dark background and you use a small font. It's actually painful for me to try and read it. I'm sure there's probably something I can do on my side to change it; but, I am a technofucktard and I don't have a clue how to do that. I'm still struggling with the fact that I had to delete a picture from my one section because I couldn't get it reset itself like all my other sections. I'll take responsibility for that.

Now, I don't want you to think that I am asking you to change your backgrounds for me. I just want you to understand that I may not be the only one with this problem. You might be losing other potential visitors to your page. And, in this venue, it seems you would want as many visitors as possible to come and visit.

I'm just saying; perhaps you could reconsider your choice of backgrounds.

Dear Leigh..

Comictragedy — Sun, 17 May 2009 08:42:14 GMT

Dear Leigh:

Hi. ComicTragedy here. I know you don't know who I am. THAT'S obvious. I NEVER get on the front page or nothing! And I know you've got it out for me; but, I'm not jealous or anything. I'll bet you're going to send me a broken mug and then blame it on UPS or whatever. Just sayin'.

So, listen. I need to talk to you about this lawsuit I'm going to have to file against you.

See, we don't have a chat room up in this shit. I'm having to flash between twitter, PNN and my email to keep up with everything. And now I've got some kind of carpel tunnel thingy going on and I'm sure I've developed some computer enhanced scoliosis. And, I'm going blind; but, my lawyer says I'll have trouble proving that part. Still.

Like, the pages are WAY cool. All these ladies ranting about whatever shit they want to. I mean, we're talking about some really sick, sick little minds out here. And the comments are cool and all. But, we SO need a chat room; and, it's just fucking expected that you'll fix this need; IMMEDIATELY.

Anyhoo..

I just want you to know this isn't personal. The fact that I NEVER get on the front page has NOTHING to do with this lawsuit.

I might consider reducing the settlement amount if you .. GET.. A.. CHAT.. ROOM.. UP.. IN.. THIS.. SHIT..

SOON!

Sincerely,

ComicTragedy

fuckfuckfuck

Comictragedy — Sun, 17 May 2009 05:56:42 GMT

I fucking hate computers and programs and all the shit I don't understand..

I wanted to change the layout of the PNN LADIES UNTIE! section.. and for some reason it changed the layout of THIS section too.. and it was all wonky and stuff.. and I LOVED my witch picture.. and now I had to delete it cause every time I tried to fix it so it would look like my other pages.. well.. IT WOULDN'T WORK..

so.. now my picture is gone.. and..

I fucking hate computers and programs and all that shit..

Back the Fuck Off.. Part Two

Comictragedy — Sat, 16 May 2009 10:02:27 GMT

Just a little update..

Seagrams 7 & Diet 7Up; mandatory cranky day elixor. I've been sucking these bitches down all day; and, I'm either REALLY drunkity drunkdrunk; or, it did the trick 'cause.. I'm not quite so cranky now.

Well, wait. That's not totally correct.

That douchebag looking dude from Publisher's Clearing House didn't show up; and I was sort of expecting him. Cheapass bastard.

Back the Fuck Off..

Comictragedy — Fri, 15 May 2009 19:45:11 GMT

It's Friday and I've been awake since 3:00am; after having gone to sleep around 1:00am or so. I've decided that the Rules allow for 7 & 7 after my coffee frenzy ends at 8:00am. Oh; and I'm kinda cranky; so, BACK THE FUCK OFF.

I had to make a decision around 6:30am to do a smoke run in my jammies or keep watching Deadliest Catch on DVR. The smoke run was the winner; but, I'll admit I chickened out on the jammies thingy. I knew I needed gas so I headed out in the opposite direction of the closest smokes run. I got to the station (I chose this one 'cause it's attached to my grocery store and I get the cents off thing) and found it wouldn't open for another FIFTEEN FUCKING MINUTES. The dude is RIGHT there! In that damn little, blacked-out window shack. Watching me. Laughing. I know he was. Little bastard.

I hit the Sheetz right next door and grab a few gallons to last until I feel like making the trip again and inside for the smokes. I looked like something the cat threw up; sloppy sweats and big 'ol man shirt; hair up in one really MESSY bun; and, of course, there's a hot dude buying coffee. Can I openly stare and try and flirt knowing he'll just run screaming; or, do I mark this one off as a no-go? It's a no-go.

Oh, and it's like really foggy because we had rain yesterday and it's warm and humid. I can't see but two feet in front of the truck and now it's rush hour (major oxymoron) and I'm not five minutes from the house. It takes me almost 15 to get back home. I decided I better do the liquor store now because it won't be a pretty sight if I have to go back out later. It's a liquor store, for god's sake. Of course IT'S open. I grab the industrial size Seagrams 7 and head back home.

I open the back door to let the PUPPIESFROMHELL back in and notice they've gotten through the baby gate and have torn up my planters on the porch. These are the same plants that took me ALL DAY TO PLANT and 10pointzerofucking seconds for them to destroy. These are the same puppies that two of the Spawn got when they were living together. Wouldn't that be cute? HUH? Not three months later they decide to live separately and would *I* keep them until they packed up and moved into their new places. THEY HAVE NEVER LEFT. These same puppies that continually fart some gaseous, toxic odor that I'm sure has caused irreparable damage to my brain functions. Like, what the FUCK are they eating? Oh, right. They're eating my plants.

Check list for today; feed the animals, done. Decide whether or not to finish transplanting five remaining day lilies along the sidewalk to my house (project started two weeks ago), undecided. Look for hotel for PPP Party, in progress. Shower, perhaps. That's it.

So, like, did I mention? I'm cranky.

And this day has NOT started well.

And I feel like going to WalfuckthisplaceMart. This afternoon. Alone. Just for the sport of it.

I hope to GOD no one comes knocking at my door today. Well, unless it's that douchebag looking dude from Publisher's Clearing House. That would be okay. But he better have those balloons and flowers where I can see them 'cause I can't be held responsible.

Other than that; BACK THE FUCK OFF..

you best strap in for this one..

Comictragedy — Thu, 07 May 2009 01:52:47 GMT

So, I had some personal business I needed to take care of yesterday; you know, like, bills to pay, people to slap. And, well, I'm unemployed so, I ain't rolling in the coin like I had been. And you can imagine; every little penny helps.

Last month I went to make the little spawn's car payment (we'll talk about this later) and I'm on their website to set up the payment. Now, I've always used my bank's webpay in the past; way easier and it's like one stop shopping. Step 1, pull up the bill list; step 2, hit enter. Done. Then I could quickly change screens to my account activity and watch the balance go down. Like watching a sinking ship; you can see what's about to happen and you want to reach out and save someone; but you can't because; well, you're too fucking scared of the water.

Anyway, so, because I'm, like, making payments as I have the coin, I was out on the aforementioned website to make this payment. Now, on every other website, there's like this option. You can click on the "regular payment" radio dial; or, there is usually another radio dial that allows you to put a different amount. Evidently they think you want to just throw all that extra cash you have laying around in this Bear economy right at them. So, they have this option.

Now, I've always paid extra on this payment with the intent of having the additional funds post to the Unpaid Principle Balance. Because it's a DSI loan, the UPB makes a difference when they calculate the next month's interest payment.

Back to the website. On all the other websites, if you put a figure in that blank field, it defaults the payment to reflect the "other" payment you're making and no longer defaults to the "regular payment". Oh, not so on THIS fucking website. No, no. Once you put the other figure in, it ADDS those funds to the regular payment. So, my $320.00 payment suddenly turned into a $621.00 payment. But; I don't notice this. Why? you find yourself asking. Because! Why the fuck WOULD I look? I mean, every OTHER website does it the way I was explaining. And, well, I've never really had to worry about the coin. I told you that already. Geezus. Keep up!

So, CLICK, I submit the payment and, surprise, it doesn't give you a confirmation/change page. Like, you know, check out what you're about to do before you submit this you asshole. Nope. You click submit and WHISK! Off your money goes into that wild, wild internet and you get this curt little confirmation page saying, "Hey! fuckhead! That's it! No changes. No refunds. We've got your money now. Sucks to be you, don't it?"

The only thing that kept me from throwing the laptop against the wall was, well, it's not fucking paid for, yet; and, well, then I wouldn't be able to come play and why the hell should I give those cretins at the loan company the pleasure of knowing they caused all my little synapses to spark at one time.

So, I waited. Gave it enough time for the payment to be confirmed. That whole ACH thingy. And then I called. (banging head against wall)

I get ahold of Tweedledee Industries to ask; polietly I may add, if they would transfer the additional funds right back to my checking account. This is where you might want to strap in:

Me: yes, I accidentally overpaid you by $320.00, and I have allowed several weeks to go by so that the funds could be confirmed.

Them: and, what can I do for you?

Me: well, see, as I ALREADY explained, it's an OVERPAYMENT; which, hopefully, you're aware means I PAID MORE MONEY THAN I WAS REQUIRED TO.

Them: I see that; however, we cannot refund the money back to you now that it's posted on the account.

Me: (deep breath, slam a few Adavans) no, no, I'm sure you're misunderstanding. See, I don't OWE you any additional funds. My account is not overdue; so, in actuality, those funds are MINE.

Them: it's not our policy to refund payments that have already posted. Plus, as I look at your account, you'll owe that payment within the next three weeks anyway. You might as well just let them post as your May payment.

Me: (using "grownup voice") ahem. Listen. I'm not worried about my May payment at this particular moment. I AM concerned, though, about the OVERPAYMENT you seem to feel belongs to you which, strangely enough, I WANT BACK. Am I making myself clearer at this point?

Them: (drone voice in place) accordingtoourpolicyandproceduresonceyourpaymentposts-youcannothavethatpaymentrefundedtoyou.

Me: may I speak to your supervisor?

Them: our supervisors do not TAKE calls. I can give one of them a message but I can't guarantee when they'll be able to call you back.

Me: actually, you WILL be able to guarantee this contact because you're going to go dirctly to your supervisor and advise them this is an ESCALATED CALL with a rather IRATE customer and requires IMMEDIATE ATTENTION. How's THAT sound?

Them: look, even if we WANTED to give you your money back, you'll have to go to your bank and get a 30 day bank statement to prove that the funds have been paid and will not be withdrawn as an NSF.

Me: I'm sorry, where do you work, IN A FUCKING BASEMENT? I want contact with a manager NOW.

*click*

I want you all to know I'm having to sit here while taking deep breaths and a few sips from the 7 and 7 before I can continue to share this story with you.

I call back and explain the multiple violations of the Fair Debt Collections Practices Act that occurred during my last call and would just like to make arrangements to receive a refund of my overpayment.

(please see conversation above)

This call ends with a "promise" that a message will be given to the manager who will return my call before the end of the day. I am pleased with this turn of events. Happy enough that I stop packing my bag and cancel the trip to Kansas so that I can "visit" them in person. And Kansas, for those of you not aware, has a concealed weapon law AND the firearm can be loaded and used in PUB LIC.

I get this call back today. I explained the whole thing again and offer to conference my bank in on the call to confirm the funds were covered and to discuss the possibility of having my overpayment sent via ACH to my checking account within 24 hours. I then explain the number of violations that have occurred within the course of these two days worth of conversations as well as their continued violations of refusing to post my additional payment to my UPB and as a DSI loan, they are required by law to post ANY additional funds to the UPB unless there are unpaid fees and such. THIS, is not the case. I suggest to him that if we can't come to some agreement that is exclusively to my benefit, I will contact the Corporate Offices and demand a scrub of my account from inception to the last posted payment. This is a procedures that NO lender who deals with DSI loans would relish.

I am placed on hold; that quiet eerie kind of hold where you wonder if you've been hung up on and you're constantly hitting the button to check to see if you're still connected.

The manager returns to the call:

Him: After confirming the funds were, in fact, honored by your bank, I will be making arrangements to have your overpayment sent via ACH back to your checking account tomorrow morning and you should see those funds available by the next business day.

Me: Be grateful I don't own a gun ...

A Request to my PNN Family

Comictragedy — Fri, 01 May 2009 23:28:29 GMT

Today, I just found out my lovely middle spawn, who is having her first baby, has Amniotic Band Syndrome. It is a set of congenital birth defects believed to be caused by entrapment of fetal parts, usual a limb or digits, in fibrous amniotic bands while in utero. There is no known cause for this condition, nor is there any way to correct the issue in utero. It can cause things such as cleft mouth, club foot, as well as unformed or deformed limbs and digits.

As you can imagine, this is causing my beautiful daughter a great deal of emotional pain, as well as for her family.

I am reaching out to my PNN family for your prayers to keep her and my new granddaughter safe in His hands. I would ask that you pray for her inner peace and knowledge that God will bring all things to fruition in His time and His way.

I thank you all for your supportive and loving nature.

It's not everyone who can carry off this look..

Comictragedy — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 14:24:27 GMT

This is me.

Really.

I swear.

I can't remember how old I was when this was taken; but, by the looks of it, I was pretty damn proud of this outfit. Like, my pose is screaming, "look who's sportin' now!"

Diabolique Belle recently posted an article with pictures from an old JC Penney's catalogue. She provided her own delightfully devilish observations and I began laughing so hard, I think I peed myself. Just a little. But, then I thought (as I so often do), why the fuck is she making jokes?? Obviously she must be somewhat younger than me. As such, she can sit from the comfort of a generational divide and giggle at the clothes that defined us in all our glory. It's not relevant that *I*, myself, would sooner stuff red hot pokers in my eyes than to see these fashions make a return appearance. But, damnit! It's not like I knew then how hideous I looked. I can only imagine my young self, school books in hand, running to the bus stop so I could show off the newest addition of my ever so cool collection. I can see my little boyfriend standing there, lime green pants up to his budding manboobs with a three inch, white vinyl belt securely holding them in place. Oh what a couple we must have been!

Diabolique Belle. Sitting merrily behind the monitor. Thumbing through the catalogue. The same catalogue which probably sat, proudly, on the coffee table in my home. Snickering to her heart's content that she was spared the fashion blunders of the 70s.

But, I wonder. Where are her straight legged jeans that were rolled up to just the right height so as to expose the three different pairs of slouchy socks? Her, with her mall bangs invulnerable to gale force winds. Did she squirrel them away in hopes that they would never rear their ugly heads again? Oh, I'm sure there's a picture. Somewhere. One much like mine. Faded by time and space. Sitting at the bottom of some long forgotten box.

And I'm sure; that, if she finds it. she will gladly post it here. With just a small caption, "look who's sportin' now!"

Flight Etiquette aka Is That Fat Broad Sitting Next To Me??

Comictragedy — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 04:20:16 GMT

I saw the poll on the front page, and not only did I vote; I had to add my two cents as to why I voted to KICK THE FAT ASSED DIPWADS right off the plane.

Well, actually, they can stay; but, they're buying two seats goddamnit!

Listen, when I was employed *sigh*, I used to travel extensively all over the United States. I was in and out of airports and hotels all the time. It was exhausting and I loved every minute of it.

The point is, those airplane seats are small, even in business class. The armrest on the aisle seat does not move; so, if the FAT ASSED DIPWAD is sitting in the middle (or the other seat depending on the size of the aircraft) you can be guaranteed you're going to have that thing surgically removed by the time you land.

I know this because I had to sit next to FAT ASSED MOM (in the middle) and her FAT ASSED DAUGHTER on a 5 hour flight from BWI to LAX. Because there were no available seats on the plane, I demanded to be allowed to sit in the flight attendant's jump seat.

Let's make the visual together here chickes:

Me: excuse me?

Flight Attendant" yes, ma'am?

Me: yeah, I'm stuck here next to these FAT ASSED DIPWADS and there's really no seat left for me to sit in.

Flight Attendant: ma'am, may I please ask you to lower your voice and stop pointing.

Me: look, I'm trying to be nice here. I need my own seat; please.

Flight Attendant: oh fuck off. there's no place on the plane to move you.

Me: I hate you, and I shall have one of my more religious friends smite you.

I know you don't believe me. But, I swear! It was a FIVE HOUR FLIGHT. It left BWI at 6:00am on a SUNDAY. I'm sitting there at the gate and it seems pretty quiet when suddenly I see SEVENTY fucking teenagers (they were flying to LA for some kind of sporting thingy), all of them sipping on Starbucks. GREAT! This is fucking GREAT! I get to fly on a plane for 5 hours with SEVENTY caffeine laden teenagers!

Fortunately, the bars are open and I figure I could just drink myself into a stupor and sleep during the flight. I was silly enough to think that SEVENTY teenagers would stay in their own seats for the duration. I was wrong. Dead fucking wrong.

I take my seat on the aisle (I used to take the window seat all the time; but, I got tired of doing the "excuse me excuse me excuse me" routine every time I had to get up for any reason; like run screaming down the aisle). The SEVENTY teenagers are all talking at once; shouting across the plane at their friends and I'm THIS close to tears. Then, I saw them. Two of them. Mom and daughter. Waddling down the aisle. They're knocking people over like two bowling pins on a rampage. I look around. Panic is starting to set in. THERE ARE NO SEATS LEFT EXCEPT FOR THE ONES NEXT TO ME!!!

I really did ask the flight attendant what could be done for me. They apologized; but, I was stuck. There wasn't an available seat anywhere on the plane. Nothing. Nada.

When I landed at LAX I went straight to the Customer Care (how's THAT for an oxymoron) department and explained my plight to the glassey eyed representative who's wrapping her gum around her finger and pretending she doesn't really SEE me even though there's no one else around. I demanded that I be given a refund because I did not get use of my ENTIRE seat. She then called for a supervisor (I wasn't even raising my voice or anything).

I explained the whole sordid story again. The supervisor stood there, musing, I'm sure, on her options. Satisfy the crazed bitch in front of her; or, contact TSA.

She chose wisely. I got a refund. Really.

An Ode to Jaime

Comictragedy — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 04:29:46 GMT

Hopefully, you all know our PNN techno extraordinaire, Jaime. If you don't, it's probably because you're not a fucktard about your blog space and your sections and keeping your posts all organized and stuff. You are probably the type who dusts the inside of your buttfloss drawer.

I; however, am NOT this type of person.

I actually thought I was pretty goddamn fucking fantastic 'cause, with Jaime's help, I set up my own sections on my blog. Now, to her credit, she thought she was responding to someone with a technointelligence somewhere above an ameoba. She was wrong.

In my exuberance to set up my sections, I deleted every single post I had put on my blog since I started it. Like POOF.. gone.. all of them.. dust in the wind.

So, I sent her a whiny.. really.. like you could hear it and everything, little email last night. It's not like I blamed her for not providing videographic, play-by-play instructions. It's not her place to presume that any of the fine ladies at PNN are technofucktards. I begged for her to push her magical "find the posts that the dumbass broad lost" button.

And what do I receive today? A LIST OF ALL MY LOST POSTS! She included color pictures of each page and what buttons I would need to click as I attempt to repost. You could tell she was typing R E A L L Y S L O W for my benefit.

Jaime is my new bestest friend.

And, as she so lovingly suggested, we will be exchanging virtual BFF necklaces.

(Raising slightly chilled glass of Bloody Mary) Jaime, here's to you, my friend. You SO rawk!

The True Emotional Release of using the word CUNT

Comictragedy — Sat, 11 Apr 2009 03:49:47 GMT

There are so few really effective pejoratives that can be used on some women. Say, for instance, me. I am a bitch and damn proud of it. Babe In Total Control (of) Herself. There, I said it.

Bitch, whore, hole; these are nice, and in the right situation, they're exactly the words you would want to use.

But then there is a certain breed of women who can only be described as CUNTS. Truly evil cunts who probably sit in their caves at night stuffing Voodoo dolls and releasing their legion of vampire bats. These are the women who fuck your father and make sure they get the will changed to leave you with nothing but a dime in the gutter. They probably fuck things that would give me really disturbing night visuals. I wouldn't be surprised if their labia are starting to drag the floor from the overuse. (See theBlogess for her unique use of large labia.)

These women are CUNTS. Period.

For example, my ex-boss is a CUNT. I can't tell you how giddy it makes me feel to use this term on her because she truly is offended by it. And, to all you broads who are offended..

GET THE FUCK OVER YOURSELF.

However, you must take care as to how often you use it. If you just start throwing it around you'll remove its power. It has something to do with Hogwarts and it could include some demonic chant that could leave you with an oozing cunt of your own.

So, now I leave you. I'm stuffing a Voodoo doll as we speak and I'm having trouble finding a suitable replacement for the dyed red pubic hair that plays the part of the ex boss' hair. And I've taken the appropriate number of legally prescribed medications, and I'm chanting.. CUNT CUNT CUNT CUNT. I can't seem to find the bats though..

Karma's a bitch, but I don't trust her timing.