Sunday, February 14, 2016

Member Benefits

This is my first attempt at an unboxing you-tube clip! Although my medium is written word, instead of video, and by unboxing I pretty much mean my recollection of reading an email. Which is lucky because in a video I’d have to wear pants. Unboxing!
A Doctor once suggested that a CPA title, which I hold, was at LEAST the equivalent of his own. In the spirit of co-operating with professionals I grudgingly agreed.
Actually thinking back, he may have been vehemently arguing that I shouldn’t call myself a surgeon and my attempts to operate on someone were more a basis of “you and the patient being too fucking drunk to know better” rather than “my awesomeness as a medical-equivalent”. It is truly amazing how recollection changes with time. I imagine when he begins talking to me again we’ll debate that very point while swirling brandy.
In any case I recently received an email from CPA entitled “CPA Member Benefits”. Inside I chortled to myself, imagining the metaphorical…no, literal, dump truck of hookers and cocaine that would be arriving at my home in no short order. Outwardly I asked my wife what her feelings were about snorting blow from a prostitute. Her sigh, an obvious acknowledgment of her community standing as wife-of-equivalent-big-shit, said more than real words ever could.
Opening the email my first thought was “Get fucked you communist bastards”. They were trying to sell me a case of wine for $99. If I have a rule of life, a holy Brannigan’s Law, it is that if you pay more than $1 online for a bottle of wine you haven’t heard of Grays Online. After a paragraph I came to two possibilities; their marketing department hadn’t heard about this thing called the internet, in which I had costed one of their selection and had it undercut by 40% within 30 seconds. Alternatively, they thought we were fucking morons. It was quite obvious at that point they had allowed the work experience to phone that one in. I scrolled further…
Nothing. No dump trucks. No pictures of mountainous piles of cocaine where big tittied blondes were making adorably blow-angels. That was it. Overpriced wine.
I don’t even.

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