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By Steven Cleamer, August 2nd, 2007
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This is what I'd look like if I was some douchebag with a mullet yelling at his cellphone while pointing at it.
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For fuck's sake! Just give me the God damn beep already!
Why do I need a full one minute instructional guide on how to speak into a phone after the greeting but before the beep? I've already been forced to listen to the painful "Hello, my name is..." introduction, I'm already aware that the slut I'm calling is not able to stop moufing a penis for 10 seconds to get to her phone, and I'm about to be subjected to the exciting anticipation of waiting for a call back while I waltz around with my thumb up my butt. Hurry the fuck up! I have shit to do!
As I prepare my remarkable voice to give birth to words of wisdom from my impeccable mouthpiece, an automated voicemail system has to butt in and explain to me in exquisite detail how to do something I've been doing for 30 years that doesn't involve painting my nails, numbing my hand, and shaving my arm. It's under the mistaken impression that I'm a complete fucking moron who spent nearly an hour firing just enough brain synapses to engage the motor functions necessary to dial my God damn phone and therefore have all the time in the world.
I'm presented with options to add or change my message, in case my original cult classic, "Hey! It's me!" isn't a resounding success. I can also mark my message private or urgent, two absolutely pointless options that provide no benefit whatsoever when I can simply scream, "Call me back, cunt! The fucking test results are in!"
Of course, you can press # or 1 and possibly skip the process, but not all voicemail services are the same. Some jump you to the beep, others prompt you to enter a password to access voicemail. It's like one of the many shitfuck games from The Price is Right. If I choose poorly like the Nazi stooges in Indiana Jones, I'll also end up growing old and withering away by the time I hang up, call the number back, and play Blue's Clues on voicemail again.
So, please, instead of greeting me with the obvious fact that you aren't answering my repeated calls after I told you piledriving that midget was just one of those things I had to check off on my list of shit to do before I die, mention which button skips the bullshit and gives me the God damn beep.
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