Twitter killed my #Mittens

In Soviet Twitter, Bird kills Cat

Dear Twitter support,

I have been a user of your service for a while now and I have to admit it has been a pretty wild ride.
However, what I never expected when I signed up was that the service you provide would ultimately mean the early demise of my poor little kitten, Mittens.

Here is what happened:

In December 2010 I was fighting a young girl to the death in front of a 20.000 people audience.
The guest of honor was Emperor Augustus himself, so we were told to make it a real show or else our entrails would be fed to a pack of hungry and slightly overweight Honey Badgers.
Since i am a highly trained assassin and overall fucking awesome, I didn’t worry about losing the fight itself, but the thought of being disemboweled because the show wasn’t fancy enough, was creeping around in the back of my mind during the entire fight.
So, after I had this 3 foot Lebanese schoolgirl in the ropes, I slightly let my guard down and she took full advantage of my lethal mistake.
With a High-Octane, Super Ultra, Possibly outlawed Scissor Ninja Kick, she took me down and a loud POP echoed through the Arena. I had no idea the ripping of a ligament was that acoustic but I can’t say I was enjoying the special sound effects, since I was too busy dying. Actually, I am pretty sure that move killed the next 57 reincarnations of myself as well.

This is pretty much what happened

Of course, I was up on my feet 20 seconds later as if nothing happened, and luckily for us, we got the thumbs-up from the Emperor and nobody had to die that day. Except for some starving Honey Badgers.

Since not having a functional ACL anymore is slightly inconvenient for an Olympic Athlete as myself I decided to get it fixed. However, ligaments in my size and awesomeness don’t come around easily so I had to pay off The Joker to go ahead and kill The Batman. Luckily for me, Batman is a donor and I wouldn’t settle for any other ligament than his.
Unfortunately, The Joker had to come up with some long winded elaborate plan, so it took about 6 months before I could actually get my surgery.
I had to spend these 6 months saving the world over and over again with a slight limp, which was not good for my reputations. I heard rumors that the “Intergalactic League of AWESOME Super Heroes” have a running joke now about me going limp in the heat of the moment.

So I had this surgery last month, which involved having to channel the power of the sun into a laser just to be able to breach my skin, but I will not bother you with other medical details.

When I woke up from my induced coma 14 years later, I was a little sore and decided to lay low on World Saving for a while. My ADD immediately kicked in and I was bored to tears within a few minutes.
That is when I fired up…The Internets.

I clicked around a little, found a few more security leaks in the Sony Network, debunked some Legends and send Chuck Norris a few dirty jokes by e-mail.

 
When I checked my watch I noticed that I’ve only been an Internet Hero for 5 minutes and it was starting to look like a very long day. Around this time President Obama send me an e-mail and asked if I could please follow him on Twitter. I never heard of this “Twitter” before, so I wrongfully assumed that he was talking about some Top Secret Government Program. However, a simple Google search lead me to your website.
It needs no explanation that I immediately became an expert on all that is Twitter so it didn’t take long before I came across the account of a young girl with 10 million followers. I saw that she was a Canadian Singer called Jessica Bieber or something and I vowed to myself that I would not be out-followed by some Nancy without boobs.

Boobless Nancy Bieber

 I demanded from the Internet to immediately start following my account @FelineMurder but I guess everyone in the world forgot to put their speakers on or something, because I got 0 followers in the following 15 seconds.

So, I had to come up with an Evil Scheme!
If I couldn’t make people follow ME, I could always follow THEM!
It was relatively easy, because all I had to do was locate the few people who weren’t following this Jessica Bieber chick. I clicked and I clicked and had all kinds of fun to see random thoughts popping up on my screen.
It felt like that time when Professor Xavier and me went into Cerebro with a bottle of rum and just put everyone’s thoughts on loudspeaker. Pretty hilarious!

After years of depression,  I finally felt happy again until of a sudden I got a pinkish bar on top of my screen saying.

Your account has been suspended.

My first thought was,…maybe there is such a thing as being too Awesome and Twitter is just trying to protect its users from Awesome Radiation.
But your e-mail explained to me, that I was being banned for Aggressive following.
According to you, following people on Twitter can be seen as disruptive behavior on Twitter.
Now, maybe it is because English is not my native language, so perhaps you can explain it to me in Kryptonian.
Your service allows people to follow other people and read what they write, however, if you are actually READING their stuff, there is a CHANCE that people get offended by this?
Because that makes no sense at all.
It would be the equivalent of a public speaker getting upset that people are coming to LISTEN to him.
(Assholes)

Now, I understand that maybe I shouldn’t have introduced myself in person to every single one of them,
(One can only jump out of a cake so many times before he gets diabetes) but I do think your banning protocol is borderline retarded and above all Lethal to felines.

Besides causing extreme boredom to a critically injured man like me, you also caused the Death of my poor little kitten, Mittens.
Mittens has a severe cause of attention disorder and I had to build a futuristic machine for her to be able to live.
This life support system was solely based on Twitter and it had been keeping her alive for weeks.
The basics of this brilliant invention was that every time someone would mention @Felinemurder on Twitter, Little Mittens would get a drop of pure liquid attention, a much needed fluid for her horrible horrible disorder.
Now, by banning me from your service, my machine malfunctioned and my poor little Mittens shriveled up like a raisin.

All Mittens needed was some attention...and salsa

As you can imagine, I am not amused.

        -  Dave Stevens

Call for Artists: Win Eternal Glory and Fame (and be Ninja Proof for 30 days)

Dear Readers,

Have you always wanted to draw a dead cat, but you were afraid your peers might frown upon you?
Well here is your chance!

I am offering Eternal Glory and Fame to the best Dead Cat Entry in the WORLD!
With over 15 bazillion readers a day, your artwork will exposed to readers from Canada to Malaysia and you will be discovered by all kinds of rich people who want nothing more than for you to draw them like one of those French girls!

You will of course receive full credit on the website AND i will use your drawing in my next complaint to the company that pisses me off!

You can send your entry to deadcatxl@gmail.com and you will have your place in the hall of fame in NO time!

I'll kick the contest off with my own entry...i know it's going to be hard to beat, but try it anyway!

Death by Arrows..Poor Mittens

As you can imagine, i will be amused,

- Dave Stevens

West Jet 2: West Jet Replies

After i send my complaint to West Jet last month (CLICK HERE), they actually send me a reply.
Of course, such effort deserves another e-mail.

From: West Jet

Dear Dave,
Thanks for taking the time to contact WestJet and I apologize that we’ve been unable to reply to you sooner.I’m sorry to hear that you had such a disappointing experience with us and I was looking to find more details about your flight but wasn’t able to find your booking.  If you can let me know your booking number, or your flight number, or about the time of day that you flew, that would be a huge help.   You can reply to me at AwesomeKatietheBest@westjet.com, and I promise that there will be no Bertha the Discouraging Bear Lady. All the best,

Katie
Guest Relations Specialist
WestJet
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To: West Jet

Katie The Encouraging West Jet Minx

Dear Katie the Encouraging Guest Relations Specialist Lady,

Thank you so much for replying to my e-mail.
Don't worry about the time it took to reply, i am sure Bertha put up quite the fight before you were able to access a computer. Your Kung-Fu must be strong! I hope you didn't sustain any serious injuries in your quest for satisfying customer service and in the case that you are the owner of a cat, that the poor feline didn't die.
The reason why you couldn't find any information on my flight is possibly because i have multiple passports.
This is quite convenient if you work for MI:6. You never know if people get upset when you are trying to save the world, so it's safer for us secret agents to assume multiple personalities and identities.
Now, the profile we have on you Katie the Encouraging Guest Relations Specialist Lady raises a few red flags, so I'm not sure if i am comfortable enough giving you specific info.
Are you sure you are just a Westjet employee, or do you expect me to believe it is your twin sister who is currently on an assignment to topple the Lybian government?
I guess Westjet would be a convenient cover for a Government Spy since nobody second guesses a lot of traveling.

Dr. Ninja will cure you or Kill you

Either way, even if i was authorized to give out such sensitive information to a flagged person as yourself, the details of the whole endeavour are relatively vague.
This is most likely the result of the intensive therapy i have been going through the past few weeks.
Although i tried convential psychotherapy plus medication it quickly became appareant that it just wouldn't cut it.
So the next logical step would be to get myself a lobotomy. I don't know if you ever had a lobotomy before, but they are pretty expensive. Since i am 68% Scottish i didn't want to spend this money, so instead i went to a convention for "Neurologists who are also Ninjas".
I pretended to be a guest speaker so i could take the stage and when the applause died down, i told them that none of them would be skilled enough to hit my memory lobe from the distance they were sitting and that they should be ashamed to call themselves Neurologists who are also Ninjas. It took approximately 0.0074 seconds before the first Shuriken hit me in the brain wiping out most of my short term memory.
A weird side effect is that i have a constant craving for Cactus. The brain sure is weird.
Another pleasant side effect was that i completely forgot that i was addicted to Angry Birds so i got to enjoy the game all over again.

All this aside, it is most likely that i was not flying under this identity but one of my secret ones.
You might want to check your records for the following:

* Batman
* Bruce Wayne
* Superman
* Clark Kent
* Wolverine
* Captain Awesome McGreat

One of my secret identities

I am sure one of those names should be on your flight lists on May 26th 2011 from Toronto to Ottawa.
Please be aware that i didn't manually book this flight myself but that it was all done by a Sentient Artificial Intelligence Program designed by the CIA. Any correspondence information you might find will probably be of my office and they will deny my very existence or send you on a wild goose chase that might involve jumping from one moving vehicle onto another moving vehicle and numerous explosions. Therefore, it might be easier to contact me directly to resolve this issue.

Also, i would like to inform you off the following.
After i received your e-mail i was so happy and excited that i printed it out and wrapped poor Mummy Mittens in the paper. It didn't take long before she regrew her fur and within a few hours she was already running around the house again. Although this was great at first, in her revived state she also knocked over a precious Ming Vase that i personally stole from a high security exposition in Shanghai.

If you wouldn't have send me such a positive response, that would never have happened.

As you can imagine, i am not amused.

- Dave Stevens

How the Vietnamese Tourism Industry Killed Mittens

Xin Chao Mister Ambassador,

During the summer of 2008 I went on a one month exploration mission with my brother in South East Asia.
This trip was supposed to be both a bonding and an awesome life experience, but instead turned into a horrible near death experience traumatizing me for at least three reincarnations.
After 15 years of intensive psychology and shock therapy I have pinpointed the cause of this trauma to be the General area of Vietnam. Not only did the Vietnamese Tourism industry cause me mental disfigurement, they are also directly responsible for the Death of my cute little kitten, Mittens.

Here is what happened:

Ready to embark on a Bogus Journey

After graduating from University in 2008, I held my brother to an ancient promise he once made me in a drunken stupor while calling me from a brothel in Thailand, that if I graduated from University, he would take me on a 1 month tour through Asia. Considering that I have never left my hometown of Batman my entire life, I thought that it would be an Excellent Adventure or the very least a Bogus Journey.
I sold all my camels and goats in order to pay for the ticket and I figured that was all I needed to make it through the month. I have had earlier successes of selling my body for cash and the Internet told me that there is always a niche market for male dwarf prostitutes around the world.

When summer finally arrived me and my brother took one of those flying devices going east to embark on this trip that would most likely make it into Batman history, or at least Madam Tzestsnikovich would brag about it during one of her knitting nights with the Belgium Mafia.

The trip itself was durable considering I wasn’t flying Westjet, with the exception that the only onboard entertainment was a Chinese movie about Malaria that was a constant reminder that I forgot to bring Malaria pills to a high risk environment. Fortunately my brother managed to reinsure me that our skin was nearly impenetrable for anything lesser than a direct hit from a German Panzer Tank shooting swords. I guess Awesomeness runs in the family after all.

When we finally landed in Bangkok we were barked at by customs which was highly entertaining because the Rottweiler in a suit was sitting under a big sign saying “Welcome to the land of Smiles”.
Perhaps you can use your political influences to change Thailand’s slogan to something more appropriate like: “Where getting a Sex-change is better for your whole family”.

Welcome to the Land of Smiles

Now, as a devout Christian, Bangkok was obviously not the place for me to be. One can only pray through so many Ping Pong shows before he realizes that the main act is beyond saving, so we decided to leave Thailand behind us and head for Laos. It turned out Laos was very resistant in our proposal to ban alcohol and general fun, especially in Vang Vien where the only (boring) entertainment is to go down the river in an Inner tube while drinking Lao Lao and taking a zipline into the Mhekong. Whoever does this for fun, will surely end up in purgatory (quite possibly before they die). These uncivilized savages also need to learn how to pour drinks in glasses, because I could only order my orange juice in a bucket, faintly smelling of gasoline.
Perhaps you can use your political influences to changes Laos’ slogan from “Jewelry of the Mhekong” to something more appropriate like “Drunk tourists are better targets”.

When we finally found a way to escape from this land we made it to your country, Vietnam.
The flight to Hanoi was interesting because I never boarded a smoke filled cabin with 200 Asians thinking it was no big deal. In Hindsight it was probably some toxin that enlarges your liver, because I wouldn’t have any other explanation for that phenomenon. Walking out of the airport I was met with such a brutal honesty that was pretty refreshing. A big sign with two arrows saying “Left: Taxi’s – Right: People who pretend to be Taxi’s but they will actually just steal your stuff”. I would later learn that these signs should be posted all over Hanoi because once these scoundrels get into the open, it’s hard to tell the difference.

Taking a cab into downtown Hanoi, I quickly learned that the Crafty Vietnamese found a lucrative way to take advantage of the Lonely Planet. As soon as a hotel would get a good rating, 15 hotels in town would just rename their hotel to that name. Cab drivers are obviously in on this scheme and they just drop you off at the one furthest away from wherever you are going.
These two experiences were enough for me to redub Hanoi, to Hannoying and I quickly fled into my hotel room.

I am usually a big fan of local cuisine (Eating cockroaches in Laos was enervating), but when a street vendor tried  charge me $40 for a pack of cashews I decided I could sit it out a few days without stimulating the entire economy on my dietary intake alone.
While in hiding, my brother and I planned a Pilgrimage to Sa Pa, a town in the northwest of Vietnam.
The friendly travel agent in the hotel said he could book this trip for us if we would just give him our passports and credit cards for a few hours. Although tempting, we decided to try our own luck and get the tickets from the train station ourselves. A short 4 hour cab ride eventually took us to the train station that was approximately 9 blocks away. During this ride, the cab driver repeatedly asked us if we wanted to go to “Boom Boom Hotel”. Now I don’t know how eager other tourists are to get themselves blown...up, but making fun of terrorism is frowned upon here in the West.  At the train station we are introduced to the Vietnamese way of Customer Service.
Of course, being used to logic I wrongfully assumed that if you enter a room with other customers, it is a first come, first served basis. However, it turned out to be a “No more Vietnamese people to serve? *sigh* ok, I guess I’ll help the tourists then” based system.
We politely asked for two tickets to Sa Pa, which is a 10 hour ride from Hanoi. This would be an overnight ride so we asked for a sleeper cabin. According to the Service Rep, there were no sleeper cabins available at this time.
BUT, being the humanitarian that he was, he said he would try to still get us on the train and offered us two “Hard Seats”. Since we considered ourselves hardened travelers, we took the overcharged tickets and were happy that we would be able to make it out of Hannoying by night.

If in my lifetime a Time Machine is invented, I am willing to spend a fortune to use this machine, go back in time, and stab myself numerous times in the face to make sure I do not buy these tickets.
But considering no scars are appearing as I make this vow right now, it is safe to say that no machine will be invented in my lifetime, or I will not acquire a fortune. (Perhaps both)

Hard Seats of Hell

Now, the diplomat that you are Mister Ambassador, I am pretty sure you never had to take any Hard Seat in your life. But I can guarantee you, that these Hard Seats were most likely used in Medieval times to trial and execute Witches. If anyone could survive sitting in these seats for more than five minutes, they were surely a Witch and would be put to Death by making them sit there for 15 minutes.

Anyway, when we made it on the train and saw our seats, we were still unaware of the true nature of these Benches of Utter Agony and took place and rest our weary bodies. It took about .15 seconds for the discomfort to set in and we cursed ourselves that we didn’t bring any Morphine on this trip.
The biggest shock however was that we were supposed to share these benches with 4 other people.
This was the first time in my life I actually debated the cons and pros of famine with myself because it looked great in theory to be about one third of my size in order to fit on these seats.

When the train was filled with thousands of tiny people the train finally started moving and my brain went into survival mode. This is most likely the only reason I get to write this letter to you today, because 5 minutes into this trip I was desperate to take the broken fan above my seat and slice my aorta in several vital spots.

After getting sneezed upon by the passenger across of me (about 15 centimeters away) we decided to scout the rest of the train looking for a better spot to endure this trip. We made it into a so called “4^th Class” cabin that was empty…as in, no seats, just an empty cabin.
After making a make-do seat out of our smelly backpacks, the giant man eating bugs came out. I’m not sure what kind of Genetic Engineering Facility is responsible for breeding these Monsters, but I am convinced that they were weaponized. They still haunt my dreams to this day.
Going down another class, we found ourselves in the cargo hold.
Sitting on the rice bags was actually more comfortable than our designated seats and we had a high five moment when we made ourselves comfortable again.
The doors of the cargo cabin were open, but that didn’t bother us at all, yet.
After about an hour or so, the train guards were ready with their duty of scaring tourists on the train and found us on “their turf”. They ignored us at first because they were too busy loading illegal passengers and prostitutes onto the moving train. The cargo cabin quickly filled up with Wanderers and Vagabonds and with them a plethora of unpleasant smells.

This is where the guards were getting bored and decided to fuck with us a little.
The first contact they made stealing my Awesome Hat. Now, my Kung Fu is pretty strong, but I was sure that the rifle the guy was carrying could outpunch me, so I decided spare any innocent bystanders and let it go.
The next form of abuse I had to take was that one of the guards sat down next to me to “chat”.

You don't just steal my shit...usually

By that I mean him saying shit in Vietnamese and then laugh with all the other people about what he just said, leaving me more than puzzled.
Now I am used to incoherent speech, so this didn’t bother me in the slightest, however, the guard sat down so close to me that I am still pregnant with his children.
Perhaps this is just misunderstood culture, but I would like to be have a few dates in before I get impregnated.
So, I Ninja’d back my hat and fled back to the Hard Seats where I found a nice piece of sharp metal to lobotomize myself with. This made the rest of the trip slightly more pleasant.

After three very nice days in Sa Pa, we decided to just buy enough tickets for an entire deluxe sleeper cabin so we wouldn’t have to share. We were told that we would receive the tickets at the train station, however, the courier used our money to buy 4 basic tickets instead and keep the rest of the money for himself.
Something we found out as soon as he drove off.

Three years later, my ass is still on a rock solid state from this trip. Last night after a long hard day of working I dropped on the couch only to hear the crunch of poor Mittens fragile little body under my now Granite butt.
If only i wasn’t a victim of the Vietnamese Tourism Industry, my ass would still be made out of Human and my poor Mittens would still be alive.

Mittens now serves as a beer coaster

As you can imagine, I am not amused.

-          - Dave Stevens

 

  

How Weedman Canada Whacked my Cat

To Ruin your Life

Dear Weedman Overlord,

I am writing to you to inform you,  that your Ottawa Location is responsible for the untimely death of my cute fluffy little kitten, Mittens.

Here is what happened:

A few months back I was fresh of the boat here in Canada.
I was a lucky guy, because it is not often that Canadian girls find the obscure Polish magazine I advertise myself in. Apparently, there is plenty of opportunities for Mail order Brides, but Polish Manslaves are a lot harder to market. I was 200% lucky because usually my clients are grunting fem-hobbits with hair on their teeth, but this one was absolutely stunning. The downside of this is that it made me want to stay around forever instead of gnawing off my arm after the first night.
It also meant I had to get a job instead of living a glorious life as a leech FOREVER!

It quickly became apparent that the Canadian job market is slightly different than the Polish one.
None of my highly marketable skills from Poland (Ostrich Wrestling and Decimating Ninjas with a single blow) came in handy here. I don’t know what happened to the Ostrich population in Canada, but I’m guessing the Polish immigrants are running a rampant underground Ostrich Tournament in Quebec.
Ninjas are plenty in some areas around Ottawa, but I don’t want to get in trouble with their Union.
Considering the complete lack of other skills and the fact that I do not speak Canadian, I was unemployed for 73 years. (No, there is no fault in my story there, I just happen to Time Travel a lot).  After this time, I started to feel a little inadequate as a MAN and getting an allowance at the age of 28 is also a little emasculating, so I made a vow to myself and The Babe that I would set out and get a job no matter what.
For the next 12 years, I practiced my Canadian and learned the entire Menu of Tim Hortons by heart, so I could fill in a position there as soon as someone would quit.

Eventually, the Internet was invented and that seemed like a good opportunity for me to rule the world. I “uploaded” my 4kb resume and I sat back to enjoy the 15 million offers that would soon come my way.
It was an immediate success!
The first business opportunity that was presented to me was a Nigerian Prince who was the sole survivor of a plane crash and needed a way to get his money out of the country. All he needed was access to my bank account. I’m still waiting for the first transfer, but I have already picked out a Mansion for when he deposits.  



The second offer was equally attractive and that was the recruiter from Weedman that called me.
At first I thought I finally found an opening to the Canadian Drug Cartel and make 16 billion dollar a week, but alas, it was just your shitty corporation that wanted to talk to me.
The guy, let’s call him Douche, told me that my resume looked very interesting and that all his experience in HR told him that I would be a perfect fit to work for Weedman!
My heart leapt in joy! Finally I would be Decimating Ninjas or Wrestling Ostrich again!
I made an appointment to see him at the earliest convenience!
All excited I fired of the Googlies to see what an awesome company Weedman was and I started reading reviews. My excitement quickly faded as I read review after review that the roots of your company go down all the way into the bellows of Hell.
Since our household was basically going through famine at this point, I still mustered the strength to through with this job interview, even though I rather put glowing pokers into my ears.
However, I found hope in the bible, considering that Job (Book of Job) was the epitome of Enduring Suffering.

Three days later I got into my best set of Spandex and my Lucha Libre mask to make a good impression on your recruiter, Douche.
Strangely enough your location wasn’t on any map, probably because nobody has send a cartographer into Limbo yet. The only reason I found that place was because of the roaming Gargoyles above your headquarters.

When I got in, I saw some of your minions chained to their desks and a few other lifeless husks sitting on a bench holding application forms in their cold dead fingers. Now, although I do consider myself a prime specimen of a human being, I prefer not to look down upon other specimens, but it was pretty clear to me that the other candidates had clearly never Decimated a Ninja before OR Wrestled an Ostrich. One of them was so creepy though, he might have dated an Ostrich at some point in his life. For a few minutes it was a fun little game to compare the candidates with the already chained down employees.
I figured if the candidate looks like a diseased Snorlax , they would most likely make it as an employee when they would be resurrected as a Zombie Weedman Snorlax.





A typical Snorlax

 Clearly overqualified I contemplated my escape out of this “Job Interview” before one of your Sorcerers could cast an enslaving spell on me.
It was around then that I heard it. The Sentence That Cannot Be Unheard…
“It’s an Amazing Day at Weedman, How May I Amaze You?”
The sentence shot straight through my funny bone as a bolt fired from a Virulent Crossbow.
It started somewhere low in my stomach and rumbled up slowly until I couldn’t hold it in.
I had to run outside and let out a bellowing laugh. Mhuahahaha.
Perhaps it is part of your brainwashing tactics that you make your employees answer the phone like that, but I am pretty sure it is in conflict with the Geneva Convention on how to treat Prisoners of War.
The Babe saw my standing there, roaring and asked me how the interview went.
I told her that I didn’t go in yet and that we could still make it out of there alive if she wanted to.
However, her damn sense of reason and logic made me go back again and sit through my punishment.
This time around it was slightly more interesting though and even more convincing that I would never give my soul to your company.

One of the things that amused me was when one of your Lesser Demons got bit by a Spider and said “Why does it always bite ME?” The fact that she used the word “always” made me realize that it is probably torture tactics the Lair Masters use whenever the Phone Banshees aren’t laboring for a slight second.

A new Weedman Employee bing born.

Although I simply LOVE getting bitten by possibly poisonous arachnids, I prefer having this done in my spare time on not “on the clock”.
Another gem one of the underdressed Pigbeasts let out was “No sir, we have a recording of you ordering our centennial service AND we have pictures of you cheating on your wife, are you sure you want to use that tone?”
Although I admit that is pretty fucking sneaky, it might be a little overdone if people want to get to speak to a manager.
It was then finally time for me to get into a dark separate room with Douche the recruiter.

The room kind of reminded me of the time I was exposed as a CIA spy in North Korea and kept for 25 years in an underground cell. But even this didn’t make the interview a more pleasant experience.

It quickly became apparent that Douche didn’t have a lot of experience with people who posses an IQ over 10 and he was asking me a series of downright retarded questions.
During this interrogation I was thinking to myself that with my highschool diploma I must have been at least twice as educated as Douche. I was also fantasizing about Douche competing in a Japanese Gameshow where the challenge is to eat raw Fugu. Douche, as motivate as he is, tries to swallow the whole Devilfish as once, causing it to blow up in his throat, poking tiny poisonous fish spikes into his esophagus.
One of his questions was “How would you convince me that you really want to work for Weedman?”
Normally, during a job interview I would have a good answer to a question like this, but in this case I couldn’t choose between “Because I like to work with hopeless projects” and “Because Polishing turds is a passion”.
However I went with, “I need a temporary job until a real opportunity to come along, please don’t hire me”.
He then asked me if I had any trouble working from 11 PM to 5 AM and that’s where I told him "good luck" and "I hope the Stealth Spider bites you in the eyebal"l.

This is when I made a big mistake.
I know I should have firebombed the place as I left to make sure the Demons couldn’t follow me home, but, the humanitarian that i am, I resorted to non-lethal magic instead.

In the showdown some of your Venomous Ninja Spiders hid under my car and I accidently drove them to my hideout.

As my cute kitten Mittens walked down the driveway to greet me, they leapt from under my car and devoured her right there.
In my rage, I curb stomped them in half hurting my ankle in the process.

If you hadn’t tricked me into coming in for a job interview, this wouldn’t have happened.

As you can imagine, I am not amused.

-Dave Stevens

  

 





How a Chiropractor committed Cat slaughter

Dear Health Council of Canada,

A composite render of Dr. Hurtsubitch

I am hereby submitting my complaint about the Ottawa based Chiropractor; Slavek Hurtsubitch.
Not only is he unqualified for Medical Healthcare, he also is responsible for the death of my poor little kitten, Mittens.

Here is what happened:

A few weeks ago I was manhandled into going to a Home and Garden show by my girlfriend. Now before you mock me, she has Black Belts in both “Murder-You-Jitsu” & “Kung-Fuck you up”, but I still put up a pretty good fight, yet, not enough to weasel myself out of this day of dragging my feet across a whole bunch of stuff that didn’t really interest me. There were a few cool Jacuzzis with TV’s in them and I saw a pretty awesome axe. (IF only I had that during our fight).
At the end of the day, we inevitably came across the commercial booths manned by a pack of rabid hyenas, trying to sell their shitty products and convince unsuspecting victims there their Auras are off by a few shades of magenta. (Did you know Magenta dye is categorized as “Can possibly give you cancer”?)
Anyway, one of the booths was from a health clinic ran by doctor Slavek Hurtsubitch and he was giving having a draw to win a free Health assessment. This was something I thought was funny, because I love hearing from Medical Personnel how awesome I am and I could already picture myself being used as an example in Med School as a “Healthy Specimen”. Little did I know I filled in a “Form of Creeping Death” and dropped it in the draw box.

Either by Karma, Bad Luck or Pure Skill my name got picked and a few days later I was invited to come and see Dr. Hurtsubitch. I should have known something was wrong when I received the instructions to get to his clinic. I was supposed to wait in a parking garage for a white van and had to give a password to the guys that picked me up to make sure they had the right victim. I was blindfolded during the way, to ensure I could never find the clinic by myself.

When I finally made it to his Lair of Agony I had to sign a stack of waivers and my fingerprints were taken as well. However, my sense of adventure won over my common sense (as always) so I was all like, “this is exciting!” I finally got to see the doctor (after paying off the bouncer) and I was a little surprised by his appearance. Since when do they make lab coats out of orange leather?
But to be fair, I’ve never seen a Chiropractor before, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

For someone who looked like the Butcher of Stalingrad he was actually quite friendly and he seemed genuinely interested in my organs. He examined my spine with some homemade technology that probably gave him a Thetan reading at the same time and asked me if I had any health issues.

Now, I wouldn’t consider my “issue” a health issue. My Acid Reflux happens to be related to the fact that I am actually 37% Dragon. It makes me pretty damn cool in everyday life (Like destroying small villages) but it also has its downside. My Fire breathing gland acts up when I eat too much spicy food. This obviously doesn’t stop me from eating said spicy food, but I do have to deal with the consequences. I explained this to him and he didn’t quite believe my story. Not because my story isn’t believable enough, but because he already had his own story ready on how it is all related to my spine being off centered and crooked.
He asked me if I ever hurt my back in the past and I remembered that I did.

Eyjafjallajokul. It was such a heated battle that half of Europe was canceling flights because of the dust we were kicking up. About 3 weeks into this fight, Captain Harrrrbringer of Death kicked me in the back with his Platinum Reinforced wooded leg and it REALLY hurt. However, I threw him in the Lava shortly after and that is why you get to read this letter in the first place instead of rowing below deck for the rest of your life.

Because the Doctor made this connection for me, Confirmation Bias kicked in and it really sounded legit. When he noticed he had sunk his sneaky hooks into my soul, he mentioned I would have to come back for another session. I had to leave behind my passport and PIN number and I also wasn’t allowed to use the Internet until we could meet again.Of course the only thing that can keep me away from the Internet is an army of Ninjas so the first thing I did was Google his name on the Internet and see if I could find any correlation between Acid Reflux and Spines. The only connection I found was some dude in Barcelona who marinated Rabbit Spine in Banana peppers for 3 weeks, ate it and got severe heartburn afterwards.
I also found out that Hurtsubitch wasn’t aligned with the Chiropractor Association of Canada but with the “Association of Fake Doctors that cannot get membership with the Chiropractor Association of Canada”. This time my Common Sense kicked in, but immediately lost to my curiosity and my desire to ask quacks really annoying questions about their malpractices.

So I decided to go ahead and see the Dr. again, but this time I was armed with KNOWLEDGE!
(Instead of my usual Fists of Fury)

The next visit had the same routine except I didn’t need a password. They just shot me in the back of the head with a tranquillizer gun and woke up in the Doctors Office again.
The Doctor was ready to wrap me up, thinking I was as gullible as last time, so I immediately went on the offense and asked him how his little Spine Measuring Device worked and how it could tell that my Nerves were getting rowdy. He said it was just technology and that it would take too long to explain to an Unknowing One like me.
 
He then set me up for a test that was going to give him all the answers.
I had to stand on a piece of paper and he drew the outlines of my feet. Then he told me to close my eyes and march on the spot 5 times while singing the Polish Anthem. When I said I didn’t know the Polish Anthem he said that probably had to do with a pinched nerve in between my fourth and fifth vertebrae.

Hurtsubitch challenging my joints

So I let him do his little test and instead of fixing my limbs an excruciating pain shoots through my spine.
“Yes, it usually hurts the first time” he said. “Now your legs are better, but we are not going to do the Marchy Thingy again”. I asked him what exactly this did to my Spine, joints and Nerves and his literal response was “If I’d try to explain that, it would be like trying to explain what it feels like to stick your head underwater to someone who’s never been wet”. However, It would be better to sign a contract/treatment plan for 4 months so we could do the Marchy Thingy again in 4 months and see if there was any improvements.

I politely told him that before I would start a treatment plan I would like some more information on this so I could research this and see if it would be beneficial. This angered the Mad Scientist again and he basically told me to “Fuck Off” and he wouldn’t take me as a patient. I wished him the top of the morning and secretly hoped an Ebola infected Pigeon would fly into his mouth during his lunch break.

Since this treatment, my back has been literally killing me and I have been cremated twice already.
What I didn’t realize is that in my will I stated that I wanted to be cremated with my cat, assuming I would outlive her. She didn’t survive the 900 degrees Celsius in the oven and is not part dragon like me, so didn’t make it back to the world of the living.  If the Health Council of Canada would keep a better eye on well known quacks, this would never have happened.

Mittens was also not amused.

As you can imagine, I am not amused

-Dave Stevens

How Bell Canada Committed Feline Murder

Dear Customer Service,

I am writing to you to inform you of the death of my poor little cat Mittens. Her untimely death, was a direct result of your lack of customer support, or better, the complete disregard of the Geneva Convention.

The reason I wasn’t able to write to you sooner, was because I found myself in a High Speed Internet induced stupor, made available by your competitor, Rogers. The Internet is so awesome, I couldn’t be bothered to contact your Victim Service earlier, simply because it is the mental equivalent of running headfirst into a concrete wall with sharp stuff glued unto it.

I am fully aware that only action Bell will take after reading this e-mail, is to print it out and fold a hat out of it.

In that case, please make it a Pirate hat, because Pirates are neat-o.

Here is what happened:

Last October I won a house in an illegal Chinese Casino. It was a close call, but I made it on the River. (AAAKJ) My girlfriend was very relieved because she didn’t feel like working off my debt sewing soccer balls for the next 25 months. Now, to me, a house is merely a place where I can play videogames and not get cold, so it was useless to me until I got an Internet Connection. The choice of Service Providers was a little overwhelming, so I flipped a coin and it landed on Bell. Please note, that I have since melted this coin and reshaped it into a monkey for being such an idiot.

Since I haven’t been defiled by your business ethics before, I went to one of your stores, thinking; “This is gonna be sweet, I’ll have The Internet soon!” Little did I know that every store employee are actually Demons from the Seventh Circle of Hell, dressed up like Perky Consultants. They sure had me fooled!

One of the employees that sunk her claws in me the quickest was “Lydio” (I have scrambled her name a little, so the wench cannot come after me). She was all friendly and nice, and getting me on the Internet was apparently her life calling! However, I somehow DARED to deviate from her stupid little script and that is when all hell broke loose. The matter at hand was, my new Chinese House was not in my name yet. I wasn’t able to move in for another 6 weeks, so I had to order the Internet…in ADVANCE!

This was a little bit too much to handle for Lydio and she had to call the head office, insuring me, it wasn’t going to be a problem. Now, I am not sure if she actually called the head office, because there was a lot of screaming and awkward silences. Maybe you should train your Banshees at the main office to learn the difference between regular victims and your own minions.

Buttons were pushed and forms were filled in when Lydio informed me of the following:

Yeah, we THINK your order is put in, but it doesn’t show in the system, but if you come back another time, we can check if it went through overnight. This made complete sense to me, because everybody knows computers are generally slackers and leave shit on their desk for the next day.

I asked if it didn’t work, if I could still be eligible for the discount that Bell was offering and would expire the next day. I was guaranteed I would be and Lydio even made a note of it on a random piece of paper she found laying around somewhere. I went home thinking “Wow, those Bell guys really know how to run shop”.

I spend the next few days working on the Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland, so time flew by really fast. (One of the perks of Time Travel I guess). I walked back into the Bell Store and asked for Lydio.

She was in hiding…

Now, when I told the overly blonde clerk that Lydio had all my forms filled in and that the only thing she needed to do was to check in the computer if my order went through, her brain short circuited and all she could tell me was “You’ll have to ask Lydio”.

Of course ,one of my favorite things to do is to take a detour after work and walk into your store to answer rhetorical questions from your employees, so I had no trouble waiting another few days for Lydio to return.

I finally managed to trick Lydio to show herself by calling her name three times in a mirror at midnight and I was ready to hear her story.

She didn’t recognize me…

She also was unable to find my name in the system or find her own handwritten note in her “Office”.

The only option she had for me, was to restart the whole process, but without the discount, because that had expired. I think she got a little offended when I asked if she could somehow get me a discount anyway. Little did I know only the Dungeon Master of Bell has that authority, and he is way too busy slaughtering Unicorns.

I politely told Lydio that I was no longer interested in her services and I would look elsewhere to get myself an Internet Connection. Walking back to the car, I secretly hoped she would trip on her way out and accidentally swallow a cactus.

Since I can only endure so much stupidity a month, I decided to hold back on my Internet until I actually took ownership of my new Chinese House. I also needed to recuperate and planned a Holiday to The Motherland.

Finally the house was mine and I was getting prepared for a good relaxing trip home. Images of Lydio were starting to fade and I was content stealing WiFi from my neighbor for the time being. On one of my last days of work, I receive a phone call from Bell that their Mechanic is at my house to install the modem and I had 10 minutes to show up or I would have to pay a fee.

Now let me recap that for you:

• I order the Internet

• My order gets lost

• Lydio is an Idiot

• I have to pay a fee

Now, before you go “Yes, that makes complete sense, what is your problem?” Please try to at least IMAGINE having a shred of logic in your entire being.

Knowing that there would be no way in Hell I could convince you that this fee would be unjustified I called my father in law to come to my house and let the mechanic in. He fortunately got there in time and installed the Modem. However, the signal wasn’t satisfying, so the mechanic had to “do something” in the “thingy” and promised to be back in 5 minutes, leaving my father in law alone in an empty house.

What you probably don’t realize is that the town I live in has one of the densest populations of Ninjas in Canada. A 60 year old man, by himself in an empty house in a town full of Ninjas is like throwing a crying baby into a nest of drunk Wolverines. (I’m not talking the animals, I’m talking X-men). The poor guy had to fight off hordes of Shadow Assassins with nothing more than a coat hanger and a roll of biscuits…FOR TWO HOURS!

Your mechanic never came back.

Now if your mechanic was also attacked by Ninjas and didn’t make it, he is hereby forgiven, but since I am sure your company has close ties to the Underworld they were probably in on the whole ordeal. When I came home later that night (stepping over piles of Dead Ninjas) I found a modem that seemed to be working. This came as a complete surprise, because at this point I expected that even your hardware would be corrupt. Turning on my computer, it asked me for a Bell Password, that the Mechanic was supposed to leave behind. Now, here are the options of what could possibly have happened:

A: The Mechanic did his job and I finally got to enjoy the Internet

B: No password anywhere and the Service Desk closed 5 minutes ago

C: Me turning into a Supernova of all consuming RAGE!

D: Both B & C are true

First thing in the morning, I call the service desk and ask for my password.

My name is not on file… I should go to the store.

I go to the store and I am met with disbelieve that I somehow managed to get my hands on a working modem. However, getting a password still appears to be quite the feat. Lydio isn’t in that day, but she will call me the next day. Using a phone is too hard for your store minions so I take another detour to the store.

The store is filled with either unknowing victims or people who are looking to devour Lydio’s soul as well.

Having to wait, I move over to the complimentary internet booth to look at pictures of kittens and puppies to get sooth the pure rage pumping through my veins. This is when one of the other Chupacabras in a Bell Uniform turns to me and informs me that the Internet Booth is for Customers Only.

I couldn't suppress a twitch as that comment completely severs the left hemisphere of my brain from the right.

Had I been overexposed to Gamma Radiation as a child, Ottawa would have been in the papers the next day, trying to cope with what happened to the City.

Fortunately, I am a gentleman (and a scholar) and I explain that I have been trying for the last 6 weeks to become a customer, but that the Rabid Bell Baboons are unable to perform the simplest of tasks.

She told me I would have to talk to Lydio…

I walked out of the store to go and swim in the river to cool myself down a little bit (We are in January) and I would call again in the morning.

This time, I got to talk to Lydio right away and she told me that “There is nothing we can do for you in the store, you have to call the Head Office”. At this point I started drooling a little bit and have to wear a helmet ever since. I also created a strong craving for eating applesauce out of a jar.

Being no longer able to deal with this myself anymore, I decided to try one more thing and have someone else talk some sense into Lydio. I watch from the food court how my liaison walks into The Fiery Pits of Bell and wait for his return.

He comes back smiling…

“Lydio asked if you could stop harassing her with phone calls and visits”…
Lydio was lucky that day that the only projectile I had access to in my direct vicinity was my Hamburger and it happened to be too delicious to waste or she would be picking pickles out of her nostrils for a week.

Now I realize that the act of me coming to the Store begging for her to take my money for her service, probably brought her back to the days she was working the pole to support her crack cocaine habit, but let’s be honest, how hard does one have to try to give you guys money?

I walked over to the Rogers Store, ordered the Internet and it was working the next day. And that is exactly why my cat died.

Rogers Internet works so well, that I streamed a scary movie to my Playstation. During one scary scene I got startled so bad to I kicked my Super Strong Bionic leg out at the exact moment my cat walked by. She went straight through the wall.

If you would have just allowed me to use your shitty service, a whole chain of events would have turned out completely different and my cat would not be there at that exact time.

Not only are you responsible for my poor little mittens, but now I also have a cat shaped hole in my drywall.

As you can imagine, I am not amused

-Dave Stevens