Smartassery

All things have a place in the universe. They also have laws. For example, a predator is a carnivore. Law of nature. My dog licks his balls. Bam! Law of nature. Incubus is a scamming thief. Law of motherfucking nature.

Time Thief: So Beatrix my laptop broke  

Beatrix Kiddo: (eye roll square) What is this? The 17th laptop? Are you trying to get into the Guiness Book of World Records?

TT: Well this time I think it is the hard drive. Doesn’t get recognized. Can you tinker with it?

BK: No. I’m not a computer expert. Can’t do (unless that is you want to pay me the $200/hour you pay the asshole computer guy)

TT: Well ok, just call Dell and get them to exchange it under the warranty

BK: That I can do

Three minutes later…

TT: Oh and tell them to send the latest model with double the gigabytes and RPMs

Sure. Off to the bin of “in your dreams cowboy.” For shits and giggles and because I love proving myself right I called Dell and asked exactly that…with the straightest face and level of composure I could muster. Luckily, Bon Qui Qui answered the phone on their side. So I put her on speaker and it sounded exactly like this:

Bon Qui Qui: Girrrrl, you trippin’?

BK: Well actually this is my boss’ request not mine. I already told him that this is not the way it works with exchanges

BQQ: Well, he dreaming or huat? If he wants to puts a claim under quarenty, he will be getting exactly whatevers was in the laptop before. When he first gotz it. No nothing extra. Exchanges are not upgrades. U-huh. Tell him to best be ordering a new one if he wants to do that. Shiiiiiiitttttt. Ha ha ha. He so funny. Child phluease!

Usually when I do this, Time Thief will fly over to my desk, jump in the conversation, and try to argue with the rep. This time…err not so much.

So I yelled “TT do you have any other questions about the battery?” Crickets crickets and deafening silence. I reckon no balls to throw it down with Bon Qui Qui.

Time Thief: Beatrix, could you make a note to tell the building that the window in my office looks dirty from the outside?

Beatrix Kiddo: (munching through inhaling lunch) Hmmm…what?

TT: Yes, it’s totally messy. I’d like them to clean it up

BK: Sure (I’ll put it in the bin of “it never will happen”)

This deranged lunatic expects the landlord to dangle an employee from the roof of a 35 story down to the 27the floor of commercial building, which by the way got all its windows cleaned two months ago, to clean his window. One window! 1!!!

What.The.Fuck.

It’s no secret that TwatHead Ventures is the most unsuccessful venture capital firm that ever was. Odds are pretty high that if we (and by we, I mean they) fund it, whatever venture it happens to be, it will end as a catastrophic failure.

To put it in perspective, if THV would have funded Google, Yahoo’s stock would be now trading at $600.

Quel surprise then that every time we send out a capital call or a quarterly report, the hategrams flood our email. Examples sil vous plait:

“This is awesome news. Yet more portfolio companies are going under! By September we should aim to just have one investment in the portfolio. I really don’t know how you manage to pick the worst promising companies but you definitely should turn this into a profession. Oh wait, you have!”

“According to the attached report, you are reinvesting (and I use that term loosely) all the gains from selling company X, which may I add sold for a ridiculous low valuation. The end result is that we, the investors, get screwed again with no gains to speak of. How dare you speak of good results and a promising outlook?!”

“Another capital call? What the heck for? I would have achieved a better return on my investment by just handing my wife a wad of cash. Ten years of giving you money have had the same effect as setting a bag of Franklins on fire and then me having to pay the firefighters for the damage caused.”

“I have decided not to fund the capital calls anymore seeing as just keeping the funds under the mattress is achieving a greater rate of return for me. I am hereby giving you permission to sue me for not funding. I bet you don’t even have the money to pay the lawyers that judging by your piss poor performance so far.”

“The only constant in my investment with your company has been the blazing speed at which it has careened down hill from the start.”

“Thank you for forwarding the latest installment of the funnies. At our house we eagerly await their quarterly delivery as they have the curious effect of making me piss in my pants laughing at my wife’s lack of business sense. There are not many things I can call her out on so I welcome the opportunities you deliver. This is better than the Dilbert strip.”  

“I hate you all.”

“Cocksuckers.”

Incubus has confided in me that he wants to give his wife a nice 40th birthday gift. Does he think I’m all that trustworthy? Nope, he just wants me to organize the whatever it is he wants to do for her. Blimey.

The plan is to take her camping to Yellowstone National Park. With the baby… of less than 1 year of age. Exactly what the fuck do you do while camping with an infant?! I suppose the extended plan is to pitch a tent and sit outside all weekend long, within reach of the formula and pampers.

Right, ok so here come the thousand questions and the huge waste of my time. I essentially get paid to eat shit with Incubus personal projects all day long.

Incubus: Did you reserve the tent that I wanted?

Beatrix Kiddo: No. I rented you a room at the hotel near the park

I: Oh how come?

BK: Several reasons. First one is that the tents don’t have private bathrooms like you wanted

I: They don’t?! It wasn’t clear from the website but I could’ve sworn

BK: (Speechless with contempt) #1 It’s a tent and #2 the website says “none of the tents have plumbing. A communal bathroom and showers are provided for your use” (I know you like to push the envelope but geez)

I: And the other reason?

BK: No babies allowed at the camps

I: Why?!

BK: (Dude, isn’t it obvious?!) Well for one they make noise and it bothers other campers

I: Pshhh, there are fat German tourists snoring and they are not banned

BK: (First, I didn’t set the rules here buddy, your counter argument is lost on me) Also, you cannot bring food into the camps, you’ll only consume food from the cafeteria

I: Well that’s not a problem

BK: Really? How are you going to feed the spawn? The main reason is that it is Bear Country and bears are attracted to food and defenseless screaming little creatures (well the spawn being the daughter of the devil and all might be a bear’s worthy contender but I digress)

I: Oh that’s not an issue, I could defend her

I think Incubus has lost it. He pretends he is going to the home of the grizzly bear (aka the most aggressive of all bears mind you and may I add with no known predators) with his penchant for not following the rules, a can of mace, and zero survival skills (and lack of assistant nearby to save his unconditioned ass) and he’s actually banking on making it out of there alive. How’s that for faith?!

For shits and giggles I should suggest covering the entire family in honey. Same ending, only quicker.

PS: Incubus, if this is the plan, please let me know so I can arrange to be in the area with a high powered camera.

The ocassion: Company’s non-denominational holiday dinner

The location: The ghastly hunting club that gives everyone the creeps (…plus food poisoning)

The guests: All the slaves  employees, the bosses, and their idiot wives (and this time around also their kids…kids!)

Now, Incubus and Succubus have a penchant for doing seating arrangements because they swear that they are the ultimate authority in throwing dinner parties. They have a blast doing this while everyone else is bloody miserable. Explain to me, what on earth I have in common with a spoiled and bratty 12 year old, whose father I’m not in the very least fond of.

But this time, they arrived late. Life-after-spawn has turned into a battle mission every time they go out. It takes them no less than 1 hour to get settled into the car and another hour to get out of the car. Good for me because I got to sit everyone exactly where I wanted. Carefully making sure I was in the complete opposite end of the table from everyone else.

But then…

Incubus: Beatrix I need you to change seats with Succubus

Beatrix Kiddo: Err, how come?

I: Because she has the spawn and she is getting a draft

BK: (I fucking hate how I am supposed to be responsible for everyone else’s choice to reproduce) But I have a cold. The draft would make it worse!

I: But the baby…

BK: Tell you what. Since I’m going to get worse if I sit there for the evening, why don’t we just agree that I’ll “work from home” for the next two days. After all I wouldn’t want to give you a cold. My main concern here being for the spawn getting sick too, of course

Muahahaha…caught between my sword of righteousness and a hard spot. It’s great to get to update the blog from the comfort of my own house, legs propped up on the couch and a glass of wine nearby. Long live the baby (and anything I can mooch off of Incubus in her name)!

Evil is contagious.

You gotta give it to Incubus’ evil genius. He has single handedly come up with the solution for not paying high prices at the pump.

Incubus wants to be good to the environment (this can also be interpreted as “I’m a cheap asshole and the Prius savings cockamamie story has yet to actually made a difference in the household budget”).

Anyway, after an entire day of my investigating train schedules, shuttles, and bus connections so he could carry on with his greedy lofty ideals, he proudly announced to us two employees that he would only use public transportation to come to the office. Very well.

Incubus: Beatrix, I need you to do me a huge favor

Beatrix Kiddo: (I know I will end up wanting to stab you but…) Go ahead

I: I took the train today to work and forgot I was supposed to go pick up a baby thing later in the day. Succubus is going to kill me if I don’t bring it home. Could you go pick it up?

BK: Sure. I need to run a few errands anyway

Two days later…

I: Beatrix, I need you to do me a huge favor

BK: (Uh oh…this sounds strangely familiar) Yes?

I: I took the train today to work and forgot I was supposed to return a watch to the store to get fixed. Could you take it?

BK: Hmmmm, ok

The next week…

I: Beatrix, I need you to do me a huge favor

BK: (I’m going to start hiding my car keys) Shoot

I: I took the train today to work but now I have to go to this event in the city. Could you take me on your way home?

BK: The city is 30 miles not on my way home

I: Well yeah but if we take I-280 and then you come back the same way and it would be pretty close to your house

BK: So your plan is to have me drive 60 miles out of my way. Why don’t you ask the slave the associate (he’s desperate to get another chance to kiss your ass anyway)

I: Oh, that would work! (OK so I’m evil too but what the fuck?)

The very next day…

I: Beatrix, I need you to do me a huge favor

BK: (I’ll be damned) Mkay?

I: I took the train today to work and need to go pick up this part for my laptop urgently. Could you go?

BK: (Thousand mile stare) No. See, you inspired me and now I’m also taking the train to work

So yeah, his plan all this time consisted on having other people do all the driving for him…in their cars. I decree he should die by beheading with a rusty blade.

Please meet Madame Guillotine. Kindly please put your head right here. The other way. The other way. Fuck whatever. Now smile…

Incubus got the envelope!!! The one from the IRS that is. The one that says “you’re being audited.” Break out the cymbals, this is the beginning of the end!

Of course in his mind (you know…the one floating over cloud 9) he is not the one being audited. The company is. Riiiiight, because that is the company’s social security number on the notice.

Anyway, the IRS guy has been having a grand time pawing through Incubus’ financials. At some point he asked for the backup for a “business” trip to Australia (incidentally, when and where Incubus proposed to Succubus) which appeared to be a bit on the astro-fucking-nomical side of costly. Oddly enough, the company doesn’t have any investors, clients, prospects, or even a remote possibility of doing business on the Aussie side of the world. Notwithstanding that minute pesky fact, Incubus expensed the entire two week trip to the company.

Best Friend Forever: Hmmm Beatrix, could you please pull up your boss’ backup for this trip here?

Beatrix Kiddo: Yes, he asked me to give you these 2 envelopes (Incubus actually put the whole thing together, I’m starting to think he has potential). One contains all the receipts and the other one has a copy of his schedule for the entire trip including his business meetings

Much later…

BFF: Hmmm, can I ask you a question? Well these documents seem to indicate that he went there with his wife? Is she a partner in the company?

Booyah!

So Idiot in Command actually forgot to scrub off the calendar for entries like “Lunch with Babelicious in Melbourne” and “Massage for two at the Ritz” and, mind you, they were not even married back then, so this is a double whammy with whipped cream on top. 

I realize not everyone can be a Smart Sexy Robot from the Future like me but this is a bit much. Dude just handed his ass on a platter to the feds.

Stupid LP: Hello, I’m here to meet with Time Thief and company

Beatrix Kiddo: Sure, please come in to the conference room. I’ll go get the partners…In the meantime, would you care for a beverage?

SLP: Thank you, I’m ok. Can I ask you a question about the parking?

Fucking ay. Gentlemen place your bets: will the stupid LP ask about where to park, or whether he parked in the right spot, or if he needs to pay for parking. Naturally, any question he might possibly ask with regards to parking in our building was already answered in my 3 emails prior to today confirming his god forsaken visit to our building. But whatever, that’s what I’m here for, to repeat everything a minimum of 7 times. This is no different than being a kindergarten teacher.

BK: Sure

SLP:  Well, I noticed the signs in the first four rows that say that “cars without a permit will be towed away.” I parked it there but don’t have a permit. Do you think it will be towed away?

BK: (Speechless with contempt) Nah they’re probably just goofing

Time Thief: (walking into the room) Ha ha, you crack us up BK. Yes SLP, you can’t park in the restricted lot, that’s what the signs are for (wow TT has actually stated the obvious so I don’t have to slash SLP with my sword of sarcasm and justice!)

…but just then he turns around to me…

TT: BK why don’t you go park Mr. SLP’s car in the garage? (what?! I’m highly suspicious of the feeling of hot blood rushing through my head)

BK: Errr (thank you for not putting me on the spot at all asshole), I guess

It took me exactly 1 hour, slightly less than the duration of the meeting, to return to the office after moving the car. After all, first I had to make sure that the rental Mustang GT convertible was put through the paces as I went to Peet’s for coffee, stopped by Sephora for a make-up errand “emergency,” and dropped by home for a meeting with my dog and a glass of Riesling. We had important things to discuss.

Time Thief: Beaaaaatrix, can you call United?

Beatrix Kiddo: Sure, what for?

TT: I don’t like the seats they assigned. Change them per the usual and make sure they know that we are traveling with the baby

BK: (I pressume so that they can assign a stewardess to fetch clean diapers…idiot) Right, there’s a slight problem with the seating

TT: I have a bunch of miles with them…

*Side Note: This jackass believes that the accumulation of 50,000 frequent flyer miles affords him cult status at the airline. “Yes, I’m calling to make a reservation for Mr. Time Thief.” “THE Mr. Time Thief?! Well I’ll make sure we bring the golden ottoman and silk cushions on board.” La di da your majesty. Imbecile.

BK: It’s not about the miles but about the baby and your preferred seating arrangement (touché motherfucker)

TT: I don’t see why I can’t seat in the exit row

BK: Errrr because you’ll have an infant in your arms (…and seven bags of diapers and miscellaneous shit around you blocking the aforementioned exit which if we get right down to the nitty gritty it will most likely be the only escape medium for the anxious hordes in case of an accident) 

TT: Well then leave the Mrs. with the baby in the back of the plane and I’ll take the exit row. They can come visit me

If God exists, she would re-route this flight to Jupiter. Then I would come in Monday morning and hear the news and spend all day watching re-runs of Desperate Housewives, not before I ordered a really nice flower arrangement for the mock funerals of course. On Time Thief’s corporate credit card, of course, of course. 

Time Thief: Beaaaaatrix

Beatrix Kiddo: Yes (insert obligatory eye roll here)

TT: I need you to do something very important

BK: Sure (ooooh, exciting!, I bet this time I’ll get a project more intellectually stimulating that slicing your bananas in rectangles)

TT: Well, I want to find a guy…

BK: Mkay (OMG OMG is he coming out of the closet to me?!)

TT: This guy works at Joke Equity Partners and I need his bio but I can’t find it anywhere

BK: Did you check their website?

TT: Well no, I thought I’d first check Google

BK: I’d do that only if his company’s website doesn’t already have it

TT: Well but look here, how strange, if you search his name in Google it seems that he went to Yale and then he went to and ad agency? look look here

BK: Yes I see, but I insist…

TT: Well you do this Google search, you may have to piece his story together. Oh and he’ll be here in 5 minutes and I’d need his bio before then

BK: Why would I…Forget it. Yes, I’ll do the search

1 minute later

BK: Here’s the bio. I also attached it to his V-card so you always have access to it (and also can choke on it often)

TT: Oh, how did you get it so fast?

BK: I went to his company’s website…

TT: But I thought I told you…

BK: Which I found through Google, wouldn’t you know? (idiot from hell)

TT: Excellent!

Twat, 15 minutes of my life that I will never get back