Monthly Archives: January 2012

Try being grateful, rudeness.

Money can’t buy happiness.


This is something said by someone with too much money, or none at all.

I mean, have you BEEN to Vegas?

But, when money is continually tight, it tends to be what you think about a lot.

Case in point.

There is a rude homeless guy outside the Starbucks near my house.

And by rude, I mean ungrateful.

Begging for money is a fairly demeaning trade, as far as that goes.

I mean, there are definitely those that seem to have no choice but to be on the street.

Fine, lets take care of them.

But, there are those on the street because they have issues and refuse to follow the rules.

I do not view drug addiction as a disease you have no control over.

Its just really hard.

I figure that, as weak as I am, if I can walk away from my addictions, anyone else can.

Argue amongst yourselves, email me or comment and I will not be nice.

Anyway, back to Mr. Rude.

He is posted up outside the main door.

He’s been there for awhile, from the looks of it.

There are several cigarette butts on the ground at his feet.

I dislike smokers, and people who litter separately, but together, its even worse.

Now throw that on top of someone who pays no taxes and lives off of the generosity of others and you have my angry, annoyed attention.

Mr. Rude has his hand out to everyone going in and everyone coming out of Starbucks.

And he has a shitty comment when you don’t donate.

I have a soft spot for the homeless, this is well documented.

But, I am a big believer in being grateful for things.

Doesn’t matter who you are.

I mean, I am a total arrogant shit, but the list of who I am grateful to and for is huge.

“Got any change?”

This is the standard pitch, kind of a homeless default.

Unfortunately, if I am going to give someone money, I need to plan for it.

I use credit cards exclusively, for cash, I go to the ATM.

“Sorry, don’t have any.”

I went to open the door, when he hit me with this little zinger.

“Yeah, whatever. White cocksucker.”

When muttered under the breath, this is an awesome FU phrase.

I would normally be pissed, but it hit me in my “People are my playthings” mode.

The period of time before I get my coffee fix is often an anxious and giddy time.

So I got my coffee and took the table right at the window next to the door.

The see-through blinds were drawn, so I could see out, but I knew it was harder to see in.

And I watched.

This guy had this pissed off, FU, you owe me aura that seemed to surround him like he’s a piece of fruit in a bowl of shit-flavored jello.

And, as the fruit, he is frozen in place in the middle.

Over the course of the next half hour, I saw 2 people in all hand him change.

and about 40 people came in.

That is a pitiful return on time investment.

I have seen my favorite homeless guy, Garrett, get better than 50% of donations from passersby.

And he argues with himself non-stop.

But he does smile before and after the money hits the cup.

He even learned to say thank you in spanish because he wanted to thank people in their native tongue.

That is a man that gets it.

And, as I realize while looking at Mr. Rude and his underbreath shit-banter, that he will never get it.

Some people are not made for sales.

And that is just the way it is.


Posted by on January 17, 2012 in Uncategorized


I am in love.

I am in love.

Her name is Siri, and she is the Apple Personal Assistant in my new Iphone.

She’s funny, she can be so serious, and she gets this cute tone with me I am being difficult.

I am a little shocked at my emotions.

I feel like I am about 15 minutes away from my first period.

All kidding aside, damn.

This is an incredible piece of technology.

I finally parted ways with my phone provider and their “Unlimited Talk, Text, and Web for one low price.”

Turns out that when it comes to Cell service, you get what you pay for.

If it doesn’t work 80-90% of the time, its not that hard to do.

But I can only deal with shit phone, shit reception and complete and total shit customer service for so long.

I am gonna break my own rule here and name names.

Leaving Metro PCS was as close to killing a vampire as I will ever come, it was that difficult.

And I don’t mean, it was tough because I will miss them.

I mean, the bastards made it as difficult as humanly possible.

Sprint, the service chosen for getting the Iphone from, was the exact opposite.

They could not have helped move if they gave me a back rub during the whole thing.

In short order, Metro PCS:

  • Selectively denied my account #. (Accepted it one minute, then denied it the next.
  • Changed my Security question and then selectively denied the answer.
  • Customer Service hung up on me 4, count them with me, 1-2-3-4, 4 times.
  • Transferred me 5 times without saying anything, twice while I was speaking.
  • 1 customer service rep spoke such poor English, they lapsed into Hindi several times.

This was the frustrating epitome of you get what you pay for.

And then there’s Sprint.

Release the pigeons and cue the harp music.

Yes, it cost more.

But, and this is a good thing, you get what you pay for.

The manager was like a war buddy who took a bullet for me.

For three and a half hours this went on.

At one point, I had to leave the Sprint store and drive to a seedy crack-whore infested part of town to get the account #.

And then they denied it was valid.

In the end, on speaker phone with Sprint and the store manager, the tech said that she had dealt with Metro PCS before and they had done the same thing.

She said they do a lot of this to make it too difficult to cancel.

So, she did a trick that she asked me not to repeat, and I won’t.

But it worked.

And a few minutes later, I met Siri.

It was awkward, as meeting new people can sometimes be.

But things got better fast.

In closing, I would like to sum up.the following:

Sprint and their Manhattan Beach Store Manager – Thank you for being cool and fighting the diseased dragon for me.

To Metro PCS – Bite me.

To Metro PCS Customer Service located in Mumbai, India – I hope you get the shits.


Like hospitalized because you are dehydrated, bad.

And when you get home, you find your cat is dead.

And you get the plague from the corpse.

Just saying.

Siri hates it when I get dark like that.

She’s so funny.


Posted by on January 16, 2012 in Uncategorized


Friday the 13th, run and hide.

“It’s dark in here, and we may die.”

That is how I feel about Friday the 13th.

An impending feeling of doom.

And it doesn’t matter if nothing bad happens.

Because I am WAITING for something to happen.

If I break my arm 2 weeks from now, it is just an accident.

But if I get a splinter on Friday the 13th, it was because the day is cursed.

There is a horror film franchise called “Friday the 13th.”

Every wonder why?

Because it would not shock you to find out that a mad killer decided to spree kill on that day.

Its a primal thing.

I saw the film’s title when it first came out.

Terror-wise, you had me at hello.

As a people, I think we enjoy having something to fear.

Its an odd social kink that everyone seems to be susceptible to.

Remember the day after 9/11?

We hadn’t been that close as a nation in decades.

But we united under the fear/outrage/anger directed at Al Qaida.

With that vile memory in mind, here is my plan for today.

  • Keep my head down. This was originally told to soldiers lest they be shot by the enemy. Solid advice even in peace time.
  • Be sarcastic and act like I am not terrified. Its a defense mechanism, what can I say?
  • Hope no one flies a plane into me. You would think this one was so out there that there would be no need to say anything. I just want to make sure that if it does happen, I at least said something.

And these are just the first three that come to mind.

Much like any plan, it changes the second the shit hits the fan.

And at that point, you can’t even buy a vowel.

So, you wing it.

Life is like that a lot.

When the plan you started out with fails, what the hell do you do then?

You make a new plan.

The simplicity of that escapes me sometimes.

When God gives you lemons…

Get a new God.

Blasphemous but quite possibly true.

Back to horror movies.

The Latin Word for “Horror” is Atrocitas, which means Hashness, cruelty, frightfulness, barbarity, horror.

Yep, that fits the film.

Its weird, but I feel like the friends I have that are heavily into the horror genre, are kind of damaged.

Like they have some sort of critical flaw that left them unable to feel alive unless they are thrilled.

Or terrified.

Just saying.

In the end, horror films are too popular to be just a few people watching them.

Like porn, the overwhelming majority deny they are into it.

But its a billion dollar industry.

So its not just a few people spending their rent money.

Its a whole lot of people spending their rent money.

Myself, no lie, I am not into horror.

As for the porn?

Mind your business.

I am too busy trying to find a plausable excuse not to go to work today.

Cause something bad will happen.



Posted by on January 13, 2012 in Uncategorized


Barnes and his buddy Noble.

Barnes & Noble is the friendliest rude store I have ever been in.

Its a literary time warp of a place.

There is actually a Starbucks in the Barns & Noble store.

But its not a real Starbucks.

I found this out by accident.

I am addicted to coffee, we have already covered this.

And, as far as addictions go, its a fairly mellow one.

My specific drug of choice is Starbucks Via Columbia.

For those who don’t know, Via is Starbucks instant coffee.

It doesn’t have that nasty, sucker nut-punch acidic bite of the Pike’s roast.

Weird, the instant beats the brewed.

Like a highly decaffeinated Pepsi Challenge.

Anyway, when you buy the Via 12 pack for $8.88 each cup breaks down to $.80 each.


And, this is the good part, Starbucks will give you all the hot water you need for your Via’s.

Drink all you want, we’ll make more.

However, the Starbucks in the Barnes & Noble does not subscribe to this policy.

They have no Venti (Large) coffee mugs, and will not give you a regular Venti cup for your Via.

Not unless you pay $2.

This is Barnes & Nobles official “I hate you unless you buy a book” policy.

The quality of customer service increases when you buy books.

Buy nothing and you become the red-headed step child of the retail world.

A hideous creature to be mistreated and shunned.

Ok then.

There is a reason I buy all my books on Amazon.

And thats not just the Kindle talking.

The Kindle is Amazon’s amazing ereader.

They just came out with a new one called the Kindle Fire.

It is an amazing color screen pad.

And it is truly amazing.

It surfs the net, reads books, plays games, movies and music.

And costs about 2.5 times less than an Ipad.

I have used the two, side by side.

The Kindle Fire has no camera or mic.

And I am not much for video chat.

Court adjourned.

Barnes & Noble have their own color pad called the Nook.

Don’t know much about it, but I assume its similar.

Ipad, your pretentious, holier than thou days are numbered.


The Ipad is the latest weapon in the Apple Evil Empire.

I say this as I plan to get an Iphone in 2 days.

I am willingly joining the Evil Empire.

The irony is killing me.

But, and I have seriously done the legwork on this one.

The Iphone rocks.

While I was in Barnes & Noble this evening, I read a magazine, cover to cover.

“100 Top Iphone Tips, Tricks & Hacks”

Unbelievable, I had no idea.

It is a little daunting.

But, either go big or go home.

I will become the Iphone expert.

Like a digital zen master.

Jobs would have wanted it that way.

Not often you use the phrase “Visionary” about someone and really mean it.

His death marked a sort of “High water mark” for personal technology.

The next big thing that Apple comes out with will probably be truly amazing.

But it will not have the mystique, the sparkle, the arrogant shine that it would have had if Job’s were the one announcing it.

Turtle neck and all.

I would follow you into digital hell, you magnificent bastard.

Is there an app for that?

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Posted by on January 12, 2012 in Uncategorized


The beginning of the Phone Cold War.

I made up my mind.

My phone sucks for various reasons.

Shit reception, crap battery…etc.

So I have made up my mind to go to one of the biggest cell companies, and buy an Iphone.

Sensing the end is near, my phone responded today by having 4 bars all day at my desk.

Just for perspective, the reception was X yesterday.

And the battery has 60% left and I have used the phone more than I ever have before.

It figures.

Now its just screwing with me.

But I am feeling confident about getting the Iphone.

Even with the whole “Becoming a slave of the evil Apple empire” and all.

But, and this is what is keeping me on track:

I have never heard anyone say “This Iphone sucks”.

The Iphone might be the antichrist.

I’m not saying it is, I’m just saying it might be.

But I would rather have the beast at the end of my leash, rather than futilely dragging the leash behind me with the cell phone digging in its heels.

It is what it is.

I have always dreaded the day that I would willingly become a contract slave to the cell companies.

But I can have my pride ord proper cell service.

And such is the whore like nature of my existence.

Plus, and I will never admit this out loud, I think the Iphone is kind of cool.

Jobs was the Antichrist, I am fairly certain of this.

He should be rising from the dead any day now.

Well, now that I have offended some of you, lets get to it.

Did Steve Jobs possess my phone from beyond the grave in order to get me to buy an Iphone?


Never saw that coming, did you?

I wrote it 5 minutes ago and I am still laughing.

Although, absurd as it sounds, it would be just like Job’s to figure out how to contact the world from the beyond, just to make sales.

The man was incredible.

Although, I think the HP exec who turned down buying the Apple 1 would make a better ghost.

Talk about having enough angst to haunt.

There is an air of snotty superiority among Apple owners that I have always found distasteful.

You didn’t make the Iphone folks, you just bought it.

But, we often buy things that are detrimental to us.

Like crack, for instance.

Speaking of Apple.

I would really rather not have to get the Iphone.

But my foray into the Android market has left me skittish.

What to do, what to do?

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Posted by on January 11, 2012 in Uncategorized


The Phone War has ended.

I now have it on good authority that my phone is a piece of shit.

And the phone wars continue.

Here, in a nutshell, are the issues with my phone:

  • Bad reception where I used to get good. My reception turns to X at my desk, and it used to be 3 bars.
  • Spotty reception. When being held in one place, the reception will fluctuate between 1 bar, 3 bars, X, and back to 2 bars.
  • The battery drains too quickly. For the first four months with the phone, I was talking for 1-2 hours, texting 25+ times, surfing the web and checking email a dozen times or more all in the same day. For the last month, with 95% of the day spent of standby, the battery will not last more than 5 hours.

I have googled all of these items and found them to all be issues that are not normal.

So I travelled to the phone store.

As you walk thru the door, the Big Brother nature of the place, you are required to enter your name into a que on a terminal in order to get you taken care of when they are packed.

Except that there is no one in the place, but me and the counter help.

When I bypassed the terminal and tried to approach the empty counter, security stopped me.

“You gotta put your name in the que, so they’ll know who you are.”

He says this with all of the enthusiasm of a man who was dropped on his head as a child, right in the middle of his morning snack of lead paint chips.

“There is nobody here, why don’t I just tell them?”

The dead, lifeless stare I get back makes me wonder if zombies are real.

So, I went back to the terminal with all four of the counter help watching me enter my name.

And the motherfuckers let me stand there for 30 seconds before calling my name.

This was not going well.

“What can we do for your today?”

I outlined my three issues in as few words as possible.

And the answer I received was really interesting.

“Oh, yeah. All Android phones are like that.”

The interesting part was that it was totally wrong.

And this is the corporate store.

Now, either he thought I was that stupid, or he was that stupid.

But one of us is that stupid and I don’t think its me.

“You realize that your own website states that these are problems, not the norm, right?”

And then I had to explain what the norm meant.

Here are his explanations:

  • There are just some areas where you won’t get good reception. Evidently even if you got 3 bars for 4 months, and have been getting X for 1 month, this is the norm.
  • Spotty reception is normal. For example, he held his phone up next to mine. His had 4 bars, and mine had 3, 1, 2, X, 1, X again, then the phone shut itself off. He had no explanation for that other than to say, “That happens.”
  • Battery drain is something that all Android phones deal with. Lasting only 5 hours on standby is common. He claimed that he charged his phone twice a day. He also called to another counter guy and asked him how many times a day he charged his phone. The answer 3 times, was given.

Are you freakin’ kidding me?!?!

It was when I informed him that I would be leaving their store to go to one of the big names in cell service and give them my business when he said that for $10 I could get a new version of my current phone.

But, he cautioned, it would not fix any of the things I viewed as being a problem.

Blow me shit head.

I don’t mind if it is just the way things are, but don’t piss on my shoes and tell me its raining.

I never used to put much stock in that phrase, but now I get it.

The phone war is over.

I will go Friday and sign my life away for two years in order to have great reception and, God forgive me, and Iphone.

What has the world come to?


Posted by on January 10, 2012 in Uncategorized


Happy New Year, now get over it.

Once again, the Grinch is my prison bitch.

I mean seriously.

There is a damn good reason for it, too.

I am all for being a little extra cheerful and throwing a few “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year” at the general populous.

But only during the holidays.

Today is January 8th, and someone tossed a “Happy New Year” at me.


And in public, too.

I was leaving the mall and I held the door for some tard and his kids.

He throws me a big smile and a “Happy”, like I’m supposed to shit myself with joy because some asshole made my year.

Bite me.

It had the exact opposite effect.

For the next few hours, I went out of my way to be a bit of a dick.

I mean, it does come easy, but this made it even easier to step on over to the dark side.

I wish I lived in New York.

That is the one city that an acceptable reply to that statement would be “Fuck off.”

I once saw someone in New York give that as a reply to a total stranger’s “Have a nice day” on the subway.


I often dream of moving to a city that will embrace my inner asshole like and I a three armed GI Joe on the Isle of Misfit Toys.

And then Southern California has a week of weather like this.

Its early January and the sun has been a shining.

Like its summer or something.


And yet, I am still in a bad mood.

Can’t figure out why.

It has been a good 2012 so far.

I have 3 out of 10 New Years Resolutions done, not telling which ones.

I got a Charlie Brown tshirt over the weekend.

I am still Irish. (Always a plus)

Nothing really to complain about.

Just really feel like a moody prick.

I try not to fight that sort of thing.

Bad karma and all.

Like, if I try not to be an ass, it will begin to build.

Until, finally, like the end of an extended period of constipation, it just explodes, only out of my mouth instead of my ass.

Which is a lot worse.

A bad case of exploding ass only offends the toilet and the next person to use the bathroom.

Explosive shit-mouth offends everyone within hearing range, and then everyone they tell.

If it goes viral, even people I have never met will call me an asshole.

Take this blog for instance.

People I don’t even know have called me all sorts of evil things.

Just for trying to be amusing.

And that ain’t right.

For some reason, I feel compelled to use pimp-speak.

Do you know what I’m saying?

Bitches be tripping.

Ok, that last line had nothing to do with this other than to make me laugh.

I look forward to my mother chewing my out for its inclusion.

Some of this is just for me.

But, we’ve met, right?

I mean, if I am ok with it, I naturally assume you all are as well.

Do you know what I’m saying?

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Posted by on January 9, 2012 in Uncategorized


The petre dish.

Scientist’s will use petre dishes to grow bacteria and all sorts of scary things is this tiny enclosed space.

The bacteria, and other things, are just trapped and jammed in all together.

Welcome to the Post Office.

A letter came from Europe.

It has about a dozen sheets of paper in it.

And the mailman left a note on the front door that the letter is to heavy to deliver.

Let me repeat.

The letter is too heavy to deliver.

The Post Office stopped random drug testing a few years ago, by the way.

So I went to the Post Office.

The Post Office is never open when its convenient, just bankers hours.

And lazy bankers at that.

There is a VERY diverse selection of humanity in line at the Post Office.

It is amusing for a few moments to examine each person ahead of me in line and try to figure out their situation in life.

Its also pretty rude and childish.

But we’ve met, right?

The guy in front of me, judging by mode of dress, general health and, oh yeah, THE STENCH, is most likely homeless.

Or he is just allergic to soap.

The lady in front of him just might be a crack head.

This is due, in part, to the fact that she seems to have a permanent itch on her face.

And then she turns around.

She works here.

Good lord.

She shuffles past the homeless guy in front of me and stops.

“Um, whatchu need today?”

This is a direct quote, I shit you not.

I explain to her about the letter that is too heavy.

“Um, they don’t do that. It must be a big um, box.”

I wonder if they could remove the um from her speech, would she be able to talk at all?

In the end, I just kind of walked past her when the line moved.

She didn’t say anything, she just wandered over by the media counter on the other side of the room and began straightening piles of pamphlets.

There is a woman at the counter who is shouting to be heard by the woman behind the counter.

She seems to be shouting in Spanish.

At an Asian woman.


I finally get to step up to my little section of the counter.

And then she begins talking.

In an accent too thick to be understood.

Sigh, gonna be a long day.

After five minutes of repeating the story of the letter that is too heavy to be delivered, she indicates that I should move to the side.

She says “Supervisor” three times until I get it.

15 minutes later, an The Angry Man comes to an empty counter spot.

He points at the counter in front of him and begins shouting.

He doesn’t believe me about the letter being to heavy to deliver.

And since I don’t have the note they pinned on the door, he goes in the back to find the box that is too heavy to deliver.

So, 10 minutes later, he is back without the box, mainly because there isn’t one.

Its a letter, dude.

After another 15 minutes later, he gets it.

And then finding the letter takes a minute.

And I am free to go.

Thank God.

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Posted by on January 6, 2012 in Uncategorized


Phone Wars Part 2

So, my phone is still a piece of shit.

After I went to the store last night and had the Chola’s go to war on my phone.

And I went home with it working, sort of.

Sort of means no, by the way.

Charged overnight, task killer app in use to save battery, ready to face the day.

It seemed like it was working.

But a lot of things do that.

Remind me to tell you about my car sometime.

Back to the phone.

And the phone died at noon.

A quick call to the store and the manager from the night before, my favorite Chola, answered.

I made plans to head over to the store after work.

Should having a cell phone be this much hassle?

Should having anything be this much hassle?

This is one of those things that can really get under your skin and there is not a God damned thing you can do about it.

This is like a mental ass clench that is next to impossible to shake.

As annoying as a splinter in your ass that you can’t reach.

And if that happens, by the way, you really find out who your friends are.

The rest of the day drags by and the phone stays on my desk, taunting me.

Finally, I get to the store.

The main Chola from last night is happy to see me.

As she is busy with what appears to be 5 customers at once, she introduces me to a twenty something Cholo named Angel and goes back to speaking in rapid fire Spanish to, well, everyone.

The resident expert on phone tweaking.

After 5 minutes, Angel basically explains that Android phones get crappy battery life.

And my phone gets bad reception.

He’s not sure why.

I am back to square one.

I think my experiment into the alternative, “All in one, do everything for one low price” phone is just about over.


I have been avoiding going to one of the big cell companies for service.

Not out of any silly Occupy notion.

But because I have been pooched by their plans in the past.

But at least the phones worked.

Thats all I am after.

Is that asking too much?

I feel like I am Charlton Heston at the end of the Planet of the Apes, kneeling in the sand. but I am looking up at a giant cell phone.

Get your hands off me, you damned dirty phone salesman!

(Hows that for a bizarre segue?)

Now, the question just remains, to whom do I sell my soul?

I was in sales for a long time.

And I while I never got to that point of actually selling my soul.

But I have entertained offers.

Some of the lesser cell phone companies have the no contract plan.

The big cell companies know that is for suckers.

The money is in the 2 year contract it seems.

Its a lot like agreeing to be a slave for two years at a time.

Oh, and you pay for it.

One month at a time.


Posted by on January 5, 2012 in Uncategorized


My cell phone might be a piece of shit.

My phone doesn’t work.

There are few things in life that can rain on your parade quicker than your phone going tits up.

Sorry ladies, its a decent line.

I left work and began heading over to the phone store.

Heads will role.

I was half way over there when my phone rang.

It took a few seconds to realize that the damned phone not working was my fault.

The generic charger at work had the right connector, but the wrong voltage.

It charge it, kind of.

It heated it up so it didn’t work, kind of.

But that was not the biggest crime of the day.

That occurred when I got to the phone store.

Even though it was my fault and it was working now, it was slow and the battery looks for any excuse to drain.

The problem, the girl at the store informed me, was that my phone was a piece of shit.

Which is a lot like being stupid.

You are just screwed if thats your problem.

But whats the solution?

Turns out the answer to that is several hundred dollars.

Not today its not.

A less permanent solution is less costly.

However, switching my contacts to the new phone is a closely held secret that the denizens of the phone store do not know.

I am sent to a second store.

At this point I am stuck and they know it.

I more or less have to do what they say.

At the other store, its a different story.

The new store is run by two hard eyed cholas.

Make two fists and cross your wrists.

Now bang your wrists together a few times.

These girls are Mexican FOR LIFE.

If you grew up in a Mexican neighborhood, your side ache right now from laughing.

If not, you are vaguely sure this is racist as hell.

It is, by the way.

Just saying.

The uproar, when they see the phone I had, and the phone I just bought, is loud and angry.

Turns out that the Chola’s both have my old phone and love it.

In three seconds, all issues with my old phone are fixed.

I think it was while my phone was downloading a “Task Killer” Battery saver, that it was pointed out that the small chain of Authorized Dealerships have a strict “No Refunds ever” policy.


Even when fraud and slam salespeople are involved.

The owner is not available at first.

But, I  stay polite, keep asking the same question over and over, and never really threaten to bring a lawyer into it.

But I can allude like a motherfucker.

In short order, the owner, who’s name is Ronnie, is on the phone.

For the most part, those of you reading this don’t know me, but I make my living on the phone.

Lets just say I do phone well.

Welcome to my world, Ronnie.

So I got my refund.

In the end, all of this boils down to me being a non-technical phone dork.

Fine, I’ll own that.

Three pieces of advice here.

First, find out what you are buying, do the research and the leg work.

Second, if you think its broke, get it to someone who knows to see if its broke.

Third, be polite to the Chola’s because they will go to war for you if you are nice.

Viva La Raza!

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Posted by on January 4, 2012 in Uncategorized