That's right. Your money back if you don't like the product or service. Please allow six to eight months. What takes all that amount of time to return, say $9.95? Well, the company has to pay legal fees for the Chapter 11 they filed to reorganize; then there are the expenses for employees salaries, a huge electric bill and their postage costs.
With STAPLES, you receive what looks like a postcard and are about to tear up and discard. But on closer look, it's a valid check! (Of course the company hopes you thought it was trash mail and ended up in the round junk barrel). That's money for them, nothing for you. And perhaps that is one reason STAPLES is closing down stores.
Another "guarantee" you have to beware of is the "free offer for services or a gift." If it's too good to be true, it isn't true. Why? Because you accepted the "free" deal and agreed to pay only the shipping and handling costs. The latter sums always exceed the cost of the services and/or the gift.
To add insult to injury, the "company" has your credit or debit card (company in quotes because it's usually just a Post Office Box Number), and the tiny print at the bottom of this disingenuous offer
is too small to read without a magnifying glass. The disclaimer voids any guarantees.
Now the coup d' tat is when you read your next bank statement and notice that $9.95 has been deducted, and will continue to be deducted monthly! That's outrageous and will drive any sane person to Prozac addiction.
So you send a nasty letter to the President of the Company. You receive an apology from the Director of Customer Relations and wait six months to get your money back. Maybe. There is always another SNAFU. Your only recourse is to pay a fee to your bank and void any further deductions.
There are no more free lunches, folks. I knew a young lady who worked for a major insurance company (Fireman's Fund) in their claims department, and the sign over her desk said: DON'T PAY.
That was back in the 90's and apparently they have reformed. But they did have what it takes to take what you've got.
Finally, don't get mad....get even. That's the title of my book published by W. W. Norton and now out of print. Try to have a nice day.
Saturday, December 23, 2017
Friday, December 22, 2017
Why Is Netflix Full Of Shit?
First of all their recent movie, "Bright," is as dull as SNL is Saturday Night Dead. The latter should adopt as its theme music, Frank Sinatra singing "Saturday Night Is The Lousiest Night Of The Week." And Reed Hastings, CEO of NetFlix, might well become a bagger at STOP AND SHOP, to display his lack of talent and Netflix's greedy slope downward.
As a media griper, I have every right to complain about anything that invades my nefarious mind. Let's start with the break-through satirical movie, "Is There Sex After Death,?" Rated R that was written, directed and produced by Jeanne and Alan Abel.
It opened at the Cinema Rendezvous (now known as the Directors Guild Theater) on October 24, 1971 before a soldout audience of 600. They loved this send up of sex and Roger Greenspun's review in the NEW YORK TIMES was headlined FUNNIER THAN WOODY ALLEN'S 'BANANAS'!
Vincent Canby, chief critic for the NY TIMES, was in the audience and called me the next day to say he was also writing a review: "I love the way you dashed up on the stage, during a breakdown of the projector, to offer free vasectomy procedures to the first 100 men at intermission."
Canby's full page rave in the Arts and Leisure Sunday section of the venerable NEW YORK TIMES insured a three month sellout of the movie run. But not so fast, before we get back to oddball Hastings. There is a play within the play as follows.
Hugh Hefner was in the atmosphere at 30,000 feet in his private jet reading the reviews and having a bowel movement in his super expensive leather seat, in his pants. Why? Because he had already booked Roman Polanski's "Macbeth" film at his Cinema Rendezvous (then changed to THE PLAYBOY THEATER). And the premiere was only a month away!!!
All this info was unknown to the Abels and Buck Henry, making his funniest appearance before the camera. The only way Hefner could open "Macbeth" on schedule was if our weekly gross fell below $8,000 a week. Presto! He had the escape clause.
To make a longer tale brief, Hef immediately hired a construction company to tear up his theater's basement. All while the packed audience upstairs was attempting to hear the film's dialogue. Impossible. Refunds were at an all time high. That is, until I hired four German Shepherd Attack Dogs with handlers to threaten the workers, if they made any noise louder than 10 decibels. They packed up their jackhammers and fled.
Our lawyers and Playboy lawyers met and settled. Playboy paid all costs. We moved to Cinema II on the Eastside of NYC and enjoyed another three months of soldout audiences before national distribution, and eligibility for an Academy Award. Boo-hoo. We lost.
Getting back to Netflix, they turned down the award-winning Slamdance Documentary, "Abel Raises Cain," by Jennifer and Jeffery Hockett. Instead, Hastings offered a subcontract by one of his subclass distributors, whose subcontract was full of disclaimers and payback extortion funds.
No way Jose! That's why Netflix is full of shit.
As a media griper, I have every right to complain about anything that invades my nefarious mind. Let's start with the break-through satirical movie, "Is There Sex After Death,?" Rated R that was written, directed and produced by Jeanne and Alan Abel.
It opened at the Cinema Rendezvous (now known as the Directors Guild Theater) on October 24, 1971 before a soldout audience of 600. They loved this send up of sex and Roger Greenspun's review in the NEW YORK TIMES was headlined FUNNIER THAN WOODY ALLEN'S 'BANANAS'!
Vincent Canby, chief critic for the NY TIMES, was in the audience and called me the next day to say he was also writing a review: "I love the way you dashed up on the stage, during a breakdown of the projector, to offer free vasectomy procedures to the first 100 men at intermission."
Canby's full page rave in the Arts and Leisure Sunday section of the venerable NEW YORK TIMES insured a three month sellout of the movie run. But not so fast, before we get back to oddball Hastings. There is a play within the play as follows.
Hugh Hefner was in the atmosphere at 30,000 feet in his private jet reading the reviews and having a bowel movement in his super expensive leather seat, in his pants. Why? Because he had already booked Roman Polanski's "Macbeth" film at his Cinema Rendezvous (then changed to THE PLAYBOY THEATER). And the premiere was only a month away!!!
All this info was unknown to the Abels and Buck Henry, making his funniest appearance before the camera. The only way Hefner could open "Macbeth" on schedule was if our weekly gross fell below $8,000 a week. Presto! He had the escape clause.
To make a longer tale brief, Hef immediately hired a construction company to tear up his theater's basement. All while the packed audience upstairs was attempting to hear the film's dialogue. Impossible. Refunds were at an all time high. That is, until I hired four German Shepherd Attack Dogs with handlers to threaten the workers, if they made any noise louder than 10 decibels. They packed up their jackhammers and fled.
Our lawyers and Playboy lawyers met and settled. Playboy paid all costs. We moved to Cinema II on the Eastside of NYC and enjoyed another three months of soldout audiences before national distribution, and eligibility for an Academy Award. Boo-hoo. We lost.
Getting back to Netflix, they turned down the award-winning Slamdance Documentary, "Abel Raises Cain," by Jennifer and Jeffery Hockett. Instead, Hastings offered a subcontract by one of his subclass distributors, whose subcontract was full of disclaimers and payback extortion funds.
No way Jose! That's why Netflix is full of shit.
Wednesday, December 20, 2017
Aren't You Sick And Tired Of Being Sick And Tired?
I'm complaining about all those drop down computer ads that darken your screen and dare you to delete the page. If you do, the advertising culperts have your "cookies." Not the ones in the toilet. On second thought maybe they do. Because you suddenly hear: "I know you like sports. Have you read this book about the great Babe Ruth?" Then you see a photo of the book and a notice: ADD TO YOUR CART. And, against your better judgment, you are suddenly spirited to amazon.com for the purchase of a book you didn't want.
This sort of selling is the bane of the Internet. I hate it and so do you. Here are some ideas for ridding your home and sanity of these greedy invaders.
1. Call the phone number listed and poke zero for a living person. When he or she answers, just say: "Sprecken Ze Deutch? (sp) Nine times out of ten the person on the other end will simply say: "You're off the list" and hang up on you. I have had this happen many times. BTW I've also used this German trick with panhandlers who run after you on the street and beg for money. Only once did a panhandler reply in fluent German. I gave him a dollar.
2. Send an email back requesting that the company advertise in French, Italian and Hebrew
3. Delete the message as SPAM
4. Locate the company headquarters and email the CEO that you will be paying him a visit soon and to look for your RV in their parking lot
5. Write a letter to the Chief of Police in the city where company is located and request the guide lines for a peaceful picketing of their home office with 20 vets from Vietnam
Any or all of these suggestions will cause alarm with the CEO and Board of Directors; now you are in the driver's seat and can control your destiny, not theirs! So, damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!
This sort of selling is the bane of the Internet. I hate it and so do you. Here are some ideas for ridding your home and sanity of these greedy invaders.
1. Call the phone number listed and poke zero for a living person. When he or she answers, just say: "Sprecken Ze Deutch? (sp) Nine times out of ten the person on the other end will simply say: "You're off the list" and hang up on you. I have had this happen many times. BTW I've also used this German trick with panhandlers who run after you on the street and beg for money. Only once did a panhandler reply in fluent German. I gave him a dollar.
2. Send an email back requesting that the company advertise in French, Italian and Hebrew
3. Delete the message as SPAM
4. Locate the company headquarters and email the CEO that you will be paying him a visit soon and to look for your RV in their parking lot
5. Write a letter to the Chief of Police in the city where company is located and request the guide lines for a peaceful picketing of their home office with 20 vets from Vietnam
Any or all of these suggestions will cause alarm with the CEO and Board of Directors; now you are in the driver's seat and can control your destiny, not theirs! So, damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!
Tuesday, December 19, 2017
ATTENTION ALL MORTALS: HOW TO SAVE YOUR LIVES!
The recent train crash in the State of Washington killed and wounded people. One witness said it was like a war zone as people were crushed by flying steel, or slammed through the window glass or tossed into the seats in front of theirs. A sad and painful situation to witness on the news.
So, will accidents like this happen again? Of course they will and there will be more innocents killed and/or wounded. Bui there is a simple, common sense, way to cut the casualty numbers dramatically. I'll bet you don't have a clue. Let me educate you and management with an idea or two.
First, take school buses for example. Why in hell don't they all have mandatory SEAT BELTS! Because parents have their heads in the sand or someone's behind. I watch the huge school buses filled with several hundred students, all chatting, throwing paper wads or making faces out the windows. They are totally unaware that an 18 wheeler could end their lives forever.
Second, passenger trains. Where are the seatbelts? The AMTRAK accidents have killed or maimed thousands over the years. All commuter and long distance trains should be mandated by the Department of Transportation to install seatbelts or face heavy fines. Ditto for schoolbuses!
Third, high rise buildings must provide all inhabitants with CANOPY PARACHUTES who work above the 30th floor. They will also have a window in each office that can be swung outward, or smashed open with a chair. The box of CANOPY PARACHUTES nearby will save lives. Think 9/11 in New York City. All those people died with no opportunity to live. A sad commentary indeed.
That's it for today.
So, will accidents like this happen again? Of course they will and there will be more innocents killed and/or wounded. Bui there is a simple, common sense, way to cut the casualty numbers dramatically. I'll bet you don't have a clue. Let me educate you and management with an idea or two.
First, take school buses for example. Why in hell don't they all have mandatory SEAT BELTS! Because parents have their heads in the sand or someone's behind. I watch the huge school buses filled with several hundred students, all chatting, throwing paper wads or making faces out the windows. They are totally unaware that an 18 wheeler could end their lives forever.
Second, passenger trains. Where are the seatbelts? The AMTRAK accidents have killed or maimed thousands over the years. All commuter and long distance trains should be mandated by the Department of Transportation to install seatbelts or face heavy fines. Ditto for schoolbuses!
Third, high rise buildings must provide all inhabitants with CANOPY PARACHUTES who work above the 30th floor. They will also have a window in each office that can be swung outward, or smashed open with a chair. The box of CANOPY PARACHUTES nearby will save lives. Think 9/11 in New York City. All those people died with no opportunity to live. A sad commentary indeed.
That's it for today.
Tuesday, December 12, 2017
The Downfall of 1,200 Gilette Employees in Boston
I have been shaving with lather for the past 80 years. When I tried to find a can of Colgate Shaving Cream at Wal-mart the other day, three things happened: 1. I was nearly run over by a huge lady with her shopping cart piled high; 2. The clerk stocking merchandise had no idea what I was talking about. She didn't speak English! 3. When I finally located the Men's Toilet Articles shelves, there was no lather, only cans of Gillette Edge.
So I grabbed one of those to avoid being trampled by that large woman with a huge cookie cutter and far too many toys in her shopping cart. Then I checked out to avoid any further confrontations.
But where was my car? The parking lot was fam packed (remember it was Black Friday) and I was eiher in Aisle A, B, C, D. E. F. G. H, I, J,. K, L, M or N.
You don't want to hear how I found my car. All right, I climbed aboard a 4 X 4 pickup truck and, using my trusty binoculars, spotted my Volvo in Aisle D. Next time I'l tie a string around my finger. Because I have the world on a string. Oh what a great song title, Harold Arlen!
So here is my beef that is bound to eventually put Gillette out of business. My can of Edge Fusion contains a blue foam, looking and feeling like tooth paste, and when I pressed the top of the can, the bluish foam spurted me in the navel. I was holding and pressing the wrong end. Don't laugh. You could do the same.
When I finally squirted the blue ointment in one palm and rubbed it to the other palm, there was a little pile of cold blue foam in each hand. I rubbed my bearded cheeks and shaved. It was a painful task. Not only was my Gilette razor dull from use, the shaving foam was freezing my face. But I endured the pain, removed most of the face hair and applied a hot wash rag, along with a non-alcoholic after shave lotion.
Finally, my advise to Gillette is to change their product's name to EDGE CONFUSION. Then develop a simple push button, with an arrow pointing to the correct opening. My belly button is still itchy from the cold application.
Among the 1,200 folks recently going to work for Gillette, there must be a few with common sense and gender beards that often itch. Especially when they kiss their wife or mate. Mine complained when I could not remove all my beard in one shaving session. It took two sessions and I had to eat a cold dinner.
One last thought. I was expecting a new style wonderful razor from Gillette in the mail, twelve years ago. They promised to send one and never did. I'll continue waiting. But forget the Edge.
So I grabbed one of those to avoid being trampled by that large woman with a huge cookie cutter and far too many toys in her shopping cart. Then I checked out to avoid any further confrontations.
But where was my car? The parking lot was fam packed (remember it was Black Friday) and I was eiher in Aisle A, B, C, D. E. F. G. H, I, J,. K, L, M or N.
You don't want to hear how I found my car. All right, I climbed aboard a 4 X 4 pickup truck and, using my trusty binoculars, spotted my Volvo in Aisle D. Next time I'l tie a string around my finger. Because I have the world on a string. Oh what a great song title, Harold Arlen!
So here is my beef that is bound to eventually put Gillette out of business. My can of Edge Fusion contains a blue foam, looking and feeling like tooth paste, and when I pressed the top of the can, the bluish foam spurted me in the navel. I was holding and pressing the wrong end. Don't laugh. You could do the same.
When I finally squirted the blue ointment in one palm and rubbed it to the other palm, there was a little pile of cold blue foam in each hand. I rubbed my bearded cheeks and shaved. It was a painful task. Not only was my Gilette razor dull from use, the shaving foam was freezing my face. But I endured the pain, removed most of the face hair and applied a hot wash rag, along with a non-alcoholic after shave lotion.
Finally, my advise to Gillette is to change their product's name to EDGE CONFUSION. Then develop a simple push button, with an arrow pointing to the correct opening. My belly button is still itchy from the cold application.
Among the 1,200 folks recently going to work for Gillette, there must be a few with common sense and gender beards that often itch. Especially when they kiss their wife or mate. Mine complained when I could not remove all my beard in one shaving session. It took two sessions and I had to eat a cold dinner.
One last thought. I was expecting a new style wonderful razor from Gillette in the mail, twelve years ago. They promised to send one and never did. I'll continue waiting. But forget the Edge.
Thursday, December 7, 2017
Why Is Alex Trebek Disingenuous?
Alex Trebek is disingenuous when he serves as spokesman for Colonial Penn Insurance commercials. This erudite, impeccable man is telling a BIG LIE when he spouts gleefully how anybody can get insured WITH NO MEDICAL EXAM, NO CREDIT REPORT, NO INCOME, NOTHING, NOT EVEN YOUJR SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER!!!
It all sounds too good to be true, Alex. Why? Because it isn't true if you are over 85 years of age. Colonial Penn does their homework and won't insure Senior Citizens who are too old. Why? Because they will soon die and Colonial Penn will have to pay a nice sum to the beneficiary. So, it's good business sense to deny potential lepers insurance.
But it's not good for Alex to be the carrier of a disease called lying. Especially when he is so sharp on JEOPARDY, not only with his pronunciations in French, Spanish, German, Greek or Farsi, but also his knowledge behind some of the answers and his often amusing interviews with the three contestants. So, for shame, Alex. Cancel your commercials with Colonial Penn. You certainly don't need the extra money!
Should Alex ignore my suggestion, let me suggest some ad copy he might wish to include:
"Oh by the way folks, (SCRATCH ASS), I'm just like any other hick out there who watches TV and falls asleep. I do that every night after a very long day with JEOPARDY. I have to be prepared by reading all the questions and answers. Sometimes we'll tape three or four shows in one day. That's a lot of malarky, believe me. I also have a lot of bills to pay. So it's gratifying for me to have a life insurance policy with Colonial Penn. I prefer to call it Death Insurance. (LAUGHS). Because somebody gets the money when you die. (HOLDS FINGERS TO LIPS) How about letting me be your beneficiary? I would appreciate that sort of gift. Especially in the weeks before Christmas. Thanks loads. See you on JEOPARDY. Au revoir!
(MUSIC UP AND OUT)
It all sounds too good to be true, Alex. Why? Because it isn't true if you are over 85 years of age. Colonial Penn does their homework and won't insure Senior Citizens who are too old. Why? Because they will soon die and Colonial Penn will have to pay a nice sum to the beneficiary. So, it's good business sense to deny potential lepers insurance.
But it's not good for Alex to be the carrier of a disease called lying. Especially when he is so sharp on JEOPARDY, not only with his pronunciations in French, Spanish, German, Greek or Farsi, but also his knowledge behind some of the answers and his often amusing interviews with the three contestants. So, for shame, Alex. Cancel your commercials with Colonial Penn. You certainly don't need the extra money!
Should Alex ignore my suggestion, let me suggest some ad copy he might wish to include:
"Oh by the way folks, (SCRATCH ASS), I'm just like any other hick out there who watches TV and falls asleep. I do that every night after a very long day with JEOPARDY. I have to be prepared by reading all the questions and answers. Sometimes we'll tape three or four shows in one day. That's a lot of malarky, believe me. I also have a lot of bills to pay. So it's gratifying for me to have a life insurance policy with Colonial Penn. I prefer to call it Death Insurance. (LAUGHS). Because somebody gets the money when you die. (HOLDS FINGERS TO LIPS) How about letting me be your beneficiary? I would appreciate that sort of gift. Especially in the weeks before Christmas. Thanks loads. See you on JEOPARDY. Au revoir!
(MUSIC UP AND OUT)
How To Deal With Grabbers, Groppers and Goosers
The recent spate of accusers, mostly women, has rocked the world. Poor perverts being targeted are amused; no money, no payment. Rich onces call their lawyers and settle for big bucks, that also includes a non-disclosure agreement. I. E. spill the beans and live with empty pockets.
Fortunately, E.J. Farnsworth, an inventor, has a Patent Pending for a "Douche Bag" that allows a hot male with too much testosterone, and a hard on, to obtain both pleasure and relief without getting arrested when performing in public, unable to keep his pecker in his pants.
Briefly, the Douche Bag" is worn like a jock strap and is made of leather. (I can already hear the HELLS ANGELS celebrating!). When the mark spots a beautiful woman and experiences an immediate erection, that's all right. The ten-year miniature battery aciivates, a small sponge squeezes his testicles and forces an ejaculation inside the clothe cup feature of his Douche Bag. Mission accomplished!
The sperm, or come as it's called, remains inside the bag and can be emptied in private. No offense to anyone and certainly no allegations. Perish the thought! The male species is alive and kicking ass, if you'll pardon the expression, albeit there are lots of good looking cookie cutters out there, especially visible in summer.
Members of Congress, both Houses and Senate, are considering Douche Bags for all male members as Christmas presents. Also, introducing a bill that would require them in all USA states to be worn along with seatbelts. What a wonderful gift, along with their Insider Trading pass, and other perks.
Obviously, the late Senator Al Frankin (he was late to deliver his Mea Culpa resignation speech on national television), could have saved his job by wearing a Douche Bag, keeping his pecker in his pants, his tongue in his mouth and his hands in his pockets. But it was too late to lock the barn door; the horse had been stolen. No pun intended.
Meantime, the President was watching Al on TV, having his joint stroked, eating rich chocolate fudge cake with one hand, and tweeting with the other: TOO BAD AL. IF YOU WERE GOP I COULD HAVE SAVED YOU. NOT NOW. PLEASE PRAY FOR JUDGE MOORE TO BEAT THAT SOB. PS JARED NEEDS A NEW CHAUFFEUR. YOU KNOW WASHINGTON STREETS. INTERESTED?
BTW, DOUCHE BAGS will come in sizes small, medium, large, extra large and huge like a horse.
I'm not telling which size I'm ordering. I just hope that Farnsworth wins a Nobel Piece Prize. Pun intended.
Fortunately, E.J. Farnsworth, an inventor, has a Patent Pending for a "Douche Bag" that allows a hot male with too much testosterone, and a hard on, to obtain both pleasure and relief without getting arrested when performing in public, unable to keep his pecker in his pants.
Briefly, the Douche Bag" is worn like a jock strap and is made of leather. (I can already hear the HELLS ANGELS celebrating!). When the mark spots a beautiful woman and experiences an immediate erection, that's all right. The ten-year miniature battery aciivates, a small sponge squeezes his testicles and forces an ejaculation inside the clothe cup feature of his Douche Bag. Mission accomplished!
The sperm, or come as it's called, remains inside the bag and can be emptied in private. No offense to anyone and certainly no allegations. Perish the thought! The male species is alive and kicking ass, if you'll pardon the expression, albeit there are lots of good looking cookie cutters out there, especially visible in summer.
Members of Congress, both Houses and Senate, are considering Douche Bags for all male members as Christmas presents. Also, introducing a bill that would require them in all USA states to be worn along with seatbelts. What a wonderful gift, along with their Insider Trading pass, and other perks.
Obviously, the late Senator Al Frankin (he was late to deliver his Mea Culpa resignation speech on national television), could have saved his job by wearing a Douche Bag, keeping his pecker in his pants, his tongue in his mouth and his hands in his pockets. But it was too late to lock the barn door; the horse had been stolen. No pun intended.
Meantime, the President was watching Al on TV, having his joint stroked, eating rich chocolate fudge cake with one hand, and tweeting with the other: TOO BAD AL. IF YOU WERE GOP I COULD HAVE SAVED YOU. NOT NOW. PLEASE PRAY FOR JUDGE MOORE TO BEAT THAT SOB. PS JARED NEEDS A NEW CHAUFFEUR. YOU KNOW WASHINGTON STREETS. INTERESTED?
BTW, DOUCHE BAGS will come in sizes small, medium, large, extra large and huge like a horse.
I'm not telling which size I'm ordering. I just hope that Farnsworth wins a Nobel Piece Prize. Pun intended.
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