Before cell phones and donotcall.gov, the wah, wah, wah wah wah was the only way to go with telemarketers. Good times!

Fuck you, Palmer. May my friends in Eden Prairie shit on your lawn and give you rabies.

The “exit interviews” I’ve had with property managers always felt a bit condescending when they’d inspect every nook and cranny — I’m pathological? OCD? a little column A, a little column B when it comes to moving preparation and execution — but now I know why they did that:

Was about to write something very similar with one diff being that the opening made me think I was listening to a lost INXS B-side from their very early stuff.