Thursday, December 18, 2003


A perfect circle.
Of two palms up
Sweet curvature.
Goes the Dump Truck
With Mud flaps
And Junk in the Trunk.
A tear sheds
For the Beauty
Of that booty.
The hourglass
I'll have seconds.
Let me see that
Tootsie Roll
Zoom Zoom
Boom Boom
I cannot lie

callipygian: Having beautifully proportioned buttocks.

Wednesday, December 17, 2003

Po box 8077
London KY 40742

To Whom it May Concern,

Or Should I say Faceless Corporation. This is not an angry letter. This is the happy letter of a disappointed man. My name is William Joseph Brame and I am a new Sprint PCS costumer. My Sprint PCS number is _________. Up until about an hour ago I was completely satisfied with my new phone, and all the services offered especially the PCS vision. On top of my satisfaction with my camera and web ready phone, you could add my relief that I would never have to deal with my old phone company ever again. I was overjoyed because I thought Sprint was different. I thought for sure that Sprint could not have the mediocre customer service and billing errors that I had become accustomed too. I use the past tense because on the evening of Tuesday Dec 16 my Sprint PCS service was interrupted, less than a week after signing a two year contract. Woe is me. I received this information via text message on my beautiful phone that had up until that moment only brought me joy, a polite message saying that I was over my credit limit and my pleasure giving phone would be temporarily turned off. Well you can just imagine what the look on my face was. . That’s right sad face. Here we go again, another phone company, another run around. So I proceed to dial the old *2 and wait. And wait . . . and wait . . . and wait. The dot dot dot’s are for dramatic effect. So as I am wasting away my evening using my fun phone for oh so unfunny activities I play a little Pac-Man. That’s not so bad now is it. I was also learning a little about the cult I had just joined. “Did you know that Sprint has the nation’s only all digital wireless network. . . “and so on and so forth ad infinitum. Well than after 15 minutes or so I finally speak to a person her name is Jen, or for your records Jen V06JSS2964. A wonderful costumer service rep and she should get a raise but that is beside the point and will never happen because you are a faceless corporation who doesn’t care about little people like me and Jen. So you guys win on the customer service but the billing is another story. Apparently the phone was not set up correctly. Ha ha ha. I can laugh now because I have been refunded and because it really is laughable. But apparently I had been paying for every call that I made. I had accrued some 180 dollars in usage charges within 5 days of having my phone. Ha ha ha. Again you must remember that this was a sad a pitiful laugh and not just a jolly good time laugh. But it is all fixed now. All that is lost is my 45 minutes that I could have spent doing countless other things. Other things like reading a book or talking to my fiancĂ©, or as my roommate requested, doing the dishes. But than again that is life. So in closing my purpose in this letter is both to entertain, if someone actually ever reads it, and to help you understand that it sucks to deal with bureaucracy. It just plain does. I don’t really want anything free although if it makes you guys feel better it might go a long way to restoring my hope for humanity, I just wanted to speak my mind. In truth I like my plan. I like that I can send pictures of my butt to my roommate. I just hate that corporations, specifically in this case Sprint PCS, run a completely inefficient world where my valuable time is wasted listening to computerized propaganda and mildly amusing hold music. Do with this what you may. These are just the ramblings of one happy yet disappointed man.

Sincere as you can possibly be when writing to no one,
William Joesph Brame

Friday, December 12, 2003

I can feel it in the air. My smile touches my ear lobes and my knees won't stop bouncing. She's coming. The giddy silly energy of expectation becomes elation momentarily. The seconds tick by. The kiss grows nearer. My dream will soon touch my skin again. But I'll be awake this time. Awake and completely caught in the present moment. Only moments away.

Wednesday, December 10, 2003

The tired man can look in the mirror with his bloodshot eyes just as the drunk can drink trough a straw as much as a bottle. The baby is growing inside the unwed mother earth and the family planning is about to be the hero. Window jumping is a sport the soul can play with its out of body experiences when the moon gets boring. The height is running away from the falling projection of the self I created today for the onlookers below who will pretend nothing happened. Conflict is the taxi of time. Torture is the medal of honor. But honor hasn't existed since the Nixon administration.