Rou

They must die. They must die a lot. In evil nasty and very medieval ways.

They called me a 4:35 AM. When I receive calls before the buttfuck of dawn, it had better be fucking good. I accept work related calls for my on-call duties. Fine. I accept family emergencies, but they had better be good. That's about it for the 4am call list.

Automated calls asking me to refinance my mortgage? What the mother-scrumping fuck. You've seriously got to shitting me. That is wholly unacceptable. In fact, that is so far outside the realm of acceptable calls at 4am, I'm not sure where to start.

The caller ID? 867-5309. Somehow, I don't think Jenny was calling me. If it was her, I hope the bitch dies and takes Tommy Tutone with her.

I don't know what rat-dicked cum-stain thought that calling people at 4am was a good idea, but I would really like some time alone with them in a room. Just me, a baseball bat, and enough time to demonstrate how I feel about his marketing concept.