Lady GaGa is a daddy-forgot-to-pull-out-during-a-drunken-bender mistake.  Or to be more exact, she was one kick down the stairs short of saving us all from having to listen to her broken-record music.  I’d like to take this moment to write a quick word to the father of Lady GaGa.

Dear idiot father,
You’re a piece of shit.  Thanks for ruining the airwaves by not kicking the piss out of your hideous, pregnant wife at least 3 times each hour.  Please eat the nearest moving bus to compensate for the agony you have put my ears through.

Sincerely,

Servo.

From this moment forward, in this blog, due to the absolute annoyance it is to say, write and read her name, Lady GaGa will now be renamed to Omar.  Don’t email or comment asking who the hell Omar is.  If you didn’t read this paragraph and piece together the oh so vital information, then you should probably join Omar’s father in the bus buffet.

Omar has the looks of a 12 year old boy born with fetal alcohol syndrome caked over with a bucket of chalk.  Omar’s attire is carefully chosen by a combination of sugar-high disabled children and the Olympic gymnastics team.  Topped off by something random out of Prince’s closet.  This look for Omar can only be described as a fucking mess.  Pants and a wigs that fit are never an option.

In addition to Omar’s physical flaws, there’s also the singer/songwriter flaws.  Such as Omar’s constant obsession with repeating himself over and over again.  I understood the fact that I had to just dance once, but I didn’t think there was someone dumb enough, who actually finished the song, to need to be reinstructed 460 times during a 3 minute session.  The s-s-s-s-stuttering doesn’t appeal to the ear either.  Puh puh puh puh poke her face with a fucking brick.

As for you who enjoy Omar’s music, how are you still managing to breathe?  It amazes me that people like you haven’t died from a severe overdose of being the dumbest fucks on earth.  Is it just me or do my tax dollars pay for most of the assistance you receive each morning putting your clothes on, bathing, eating, wiping your ass and taking you for a walk so you can loudly hum incoherent messages and the squirrel in the tree?  Do us a favor and lick the electrical socket.

Let me start by saying that if any of you fuckwads work for a telemarketer, you should stab the person sitting next to you. They’re probably an asshole who enjoys their job. Now let me continue by saying, I hate these fucks who can’t take the hint that you don’t care about their fucking surveys, offers or rebates. May your children end up with STIs at birth.

So one day, I receive a call. And I’m not a pussy, I answer all calls. If it isn’t someone I like, I find a way to make them to hang up. The call I received was just one of those situations. It was a telemarketer. But not your standard, “HEY! Satellite TV is cheaper than ever!” type deals. No. This was an opinion survey and it didn’t last long.

Here’s the transcript from our conversation:

Woman - I’m conducting an opinion survey. Have you begun or completed any of your holiday shopping yet?
Servo - Which holiday?
Woman - It doesn’t say.
Servo - Well how can I honestly answer the question if I don’t know which holiday?
Woman - It’s just for the holiday season, not for any specific holiday.
[Weird pause in which I can hear her breathing with frustration]
Woman - Have you shopped at any furniture stores.
Servo - Well most of the stores had furniture. There were these fold up chairs at…
Woman - Ok.
[Another pause and a miserable sigh in the middle.]
Woman - Have you shopped at any specialty stores, for example, bookstores, jewelry stores, etc?
Servo - Oh hell yes, I was just at the grocery store yesterday.
[Paused. Inhaled breath.]
Woman - Have you shopped at any electronic stores?
Servo - Uh huh. All the stores I went to had electronics. They all had those awesome electronic registers.
[Woman scoffs the quickly spools out her closing statement.]
Woman - That’s all the questions I have for you today.
[She hangs up.]

This bitch didn’t even say thank you to me. And something tells me, the tone of her fuckable voice, that there were more questions on her list. I don’t think she was annoyed at me at all, she wouldn’t have hung up from honest answers. I think the sound of my voice was making her panties so wet that should couldn’t control herself and had to leave her post to make an emergency stop to the bathroom to play “checking for squirrels”.

The next morning, yes there’s more, I receive a call. I answer. Holy fucking shit, it’s the SAME, the EXACT FUCKING SAME opinion survey. This time it’s a man on the line.

Man - I’m conducting an opinion survey. Have you begun or completed any of your holiday shopping yet?
Servo - Which holiday?
Man - Any holiday.
Servo - Any holiday? Great! I love Halloween! And holy shit did I do tons of-
[Man hangs up.]

This guy must have be super turned on by my enthusiasm. I could only imagine him running down the cubicle aisles toward the bathroom holding his binded reference book in front of his crotch fighting off all the greetings from his fellow coworkers. I feel bad for giving him wood. Actually, I feel bad for flustering both of those employees. Nobody deserves to get teased and then ditched, blue balls sucks no matter what sex you are.

Wait, no, I lied. I don’t give a fuck about either of those heartless faggots. Waste my fucking time? If they can call out to my house, then they shouldn’t be allowed to block their calls, use forwarding numbers or mask their calls in any way. If they’re allowed to call me, I should be given their fucking numbers and it should be legal for them to have to accept my calls as well. None of this, “Outgoing only” bullshit, it should be against the law to be able to make outgoing calls without first having to properly identify your number and extension to whomever you call.

Burn in fucking hell.

Well the time calls that I give yet another dumb bitch a piece of my mind. Hi Gina, this blog is about you. Now before I get too far into this, there are 2 Gina’s that will probably see this, one of you is safe. Strangely both Gina’s have an L that begins their last name, so I can’t use that. Instead, Pure Romance Gina, you can relax. Also, while you’re reading this, field test some toys. I’ll get all hot and feisty knowing that some hot chic is diddling herself to my blogs. *grunt*

To the tool: What more can I say about you? Really, besides the fact that you’re a lying, manipulating whore, I don’t know much about you. Oh wait, yes I do. Where should we start? How about where you pissed me off? Yeah, that’s a good place to begin.

Listen cunt, don’t call me out and accuse me of shit if you don’t have your facts straight. Hell, if you even had half a fucking truth to anything you spit, I’d be a little less compelled to chew you out. And I can’t remember, what was it that you said to me today? Oh no, don’t get up, I’ll find it.

man jake you need to keep your comments to yourself…..you lost all respect from me the night that you n dan called me n were sayin comments about me and my kid….grow the fuck up

Keep my comments to myself? I forgot that my witty touch of dry sarcasm was offending to you, especially when I said it without your presence, to someone who’s more than capable of standing up for herself. If I were to keep my comments to myself, I would expect you to keep out of everyone else’s business. If you really wanted to be a super hero, protecting everyone, I think you’d need a lot more than a fat ass and an unborn infant anchor.

NOW I have insulted your child. I lost all respect from you for something I never took part in. I don’t know your number, nor have I ever called with Daniel to comment about your love child. But seeing as how you have put me on the defensive, I really hope your bastard child turns out to be autistic, left-handed and gay. Not just curious gay, but flaming, costume wearing, parade marching gay.

You say I need to grow up, well this is me playing like a grown-up. I’ll fight fire with gasoline. I don’t like you, your attitude or your forefivehead(seriously, I could land Air Force 2 on your forehead it’s so large). You’re a stubborn, snot-nosed brat who has been spoiled for far too long and babied for even longer. You want me to grow up? Maybe take a gander at your own image, take a peek at how dire it is to straighten up your own life and immaturity. So is being a single mom-to-be everything you hoped it to be?

Now I know you’ll probably get a list of things to complain about here, starting with telling all your protective, disrespectful male friends that I’m a piece of shit and I deserve a beating. Well let me have you know that I’m the wrong person to fuck with. If I even think for a moment that I may be in some sort of danger, I will bust open more skulls than you can imagine. And don’t think that I can’t handle myself, because when it comes right down to it there hasn’t been a single man who’s attacked me with intent who hasn’t hit the ground in a manner that is descriptively detailed as sickening.

You’d better believe I’m serious about this too. I’ve struck friends in anger for far less. A perfect stranger would make it that much easier to annihilate.

Gina, you used to be a good kid. I don’t know where the apple went rotten, but it’s far beyond help. And seriously, how the fuck did you get knocked up anyway? I can’t understand how a flat-chested, fat-assed, bitch with the personality of treebark, could ever get a dick inside of her, let alone a load left. Congrats though, you’ve joined the millions of other dumb bitches who aren’t intelligent enough to prevent a pregnancy. Way to screw up your child even before it’s born.