Or, I Felt Like I Dropped the Proverbial Soap
When I signed up for 21st Century, I was in one hell of a Honeymoon phase. I ran to my computer immediately upon hanging up because they e-mailed me my insurance documents and cards.
They fucking sent me brand new insurance cards electronically! Who does that?! I said to myself. Not your shitty insurance company who wouldn’t give one single solitary shit if you contracted Ebola and bled out of your eyeballs and every other opening on your body until you looked like a piece of Swiss cheese someone dropped in a puddle of Heinz.
I was on Cloud 9.
Or, Does He Look Like a Bitch?
Car insurance is cool, you guys. You pay a bunch of money to a faceless company with the understanding that, if they’re feeling generous, they’ll fix your car if you or someone else fucks it up.
Before I moved to Tampa, I had Allstate, and I was in good hands. Those hands were cradling my wallet’s balls with safe driver discounts and money back for every six months I didn’t do something vehicularly retarded.
You guys might not know this, but writing posts for this blog doesn’t pay the bills.
Like, at all.
So, as one of my previous posts pointed out, I’ve been looking for a second job. And, as my absence from the blogging world might suggest — I found one.
For those of you keeping score, I now have 200 percent more jobs than nine percent of America.
It’s been my experience, at least.