Fucking Comcast. Fucking Department of Telecommunications & Energy

I was falling asleep. Really falling asleep. So I had two Little Debbie cakes and now nursing my third coffee. I'm really not supposed to be drinking coffee, because it aggravates my reflux laryngitis. But fuck it.

I am been so incredibly angry these past few days. Even more incredibly angry than I normally am, which is pretty angry. See, about 2 months ago I signed up for Comcast telephone service and they told me I'd be able to retain my custom ring number (sort of like an alternant number) I had with Verizon. This is in fact on the fucking WORK ORDER. So when they came over to set it my phone service, the guy said he could give me the custom ring number that day, to call the office the next day. I did that, and they said they'd take care of it. I called about a week later to report to them that it still wasn't working. They said they'd take care of it. Of course they didn't, and I neglected to follow up. Recently, by accident, I sent out an important letter with the custom ring number (the one which the mofo Comcast bastards never installed). It cost me a lot of embarrassment and some money to rectify the problem. I called Comcast, and was told that the custom ring number wasn't ported to Comcast from Verizon, and that I (not them) would have to take up this issue with Verizon. When I spoke to Samantha the supervisor, I wasn't given an apology. Instead I was given the following false statements:

1.) That I never called Comcast to tell them there was a problem with the custom ring number.
2.) The problem occurred because I did not opt for the custom ring until 2 days later. (This is total shit, as I made it very clear to the salesman at the point of sale that it was imperative that my old custom ring number transferred over.)

I was actually quote impressed how Sam could stay composed and tell me this pure shit as I grilled her about her legal responsibility to give me the services that I had been paying for since day 1. She even told me to have a nice afternoon before she hung up, and I believe she even meant it. It was said the tone, We-don't-give-a-flying-fuck-about-you-but-don't-take-it-personally expressions. Sammy is one cool, collected composed, woman. A truly exceptional and rare asshole. It is assholes like her that make the world go 'round. I fully endorse hiring this woman for any company that wants to treat their customers like pure shit.

After my talk with Sam, I spoke to the good ol' Depeartment of Telecommunication & Energy in Massachusets. These are the people who oversee the utilities so that they do not exploit their monopoly status. I spoke to someone not nearly composed as Sam, named Beverely. Beverely was in fact a fucking moron. Bev called me back a few hours later and read me a statement, which basically paraphrased the shit that Sam had told me. (It was probably read by Sam.) When I asked Bev for a copy of what she had read me, she said she couldn't send it to me, that it came to her in an e-mail. I asked Bev to e-mail it to me then. But no, she couldn't do that. Also, if I had any other questions or issues, I needed to take them up with Comcast, not the Department of Telecommunications and Energy.

It is HIGHLY QUESTIONABLE to me whether those fuckers at Telecommunications & Energy have the legal right to withhold information pertinent to my complaint.

So there you go. We have tax dollars going to a government agency who is supposed to advocate for the consumer, but instead acts as a rubber stamp for exploits of monopoly utilities for which the Republicans bend over backwards to deregulate.

The more I think about how corrupt the system is, the angrier I get. I want to do something about it. I want to expose these fuckers. We live with such horseshit hypocrisy. I am trying to get together an Internet radio station together now. I don't have the time right now, and I need some more bread, but I'm hoping that I can do so something eventually, in my own way.

Saddam Hussein takes over this Blog


I swear to God. I am not fucking with you. After publishing my last blog, I clicked the "View Blog" tab and there was a photo of Saddam's dead son. I forget which one -- I think it was the older, psycho one, with Arabic writing. When I hit the reset button, I saw the page as I normally should.

Perhaps this Georgy Groupie Blog is really a covert center for Bathist resistance. Perhaps if the Americans kill this blog, they will capture Saddam and win over the hearts, minds, and money of the Iraqi people.

Now I'm angry at myself for not saving the photo. I'll see if it's still in my cache. Even if I find it, I don't know what to do with it, as I can't upload anything with a free blog service..

I would like it to be on record that while this Blog denounces the illegal occupation of Iraq, we would prefer it if the Iraqi resistance find another avenue to relay secret messages, as we would like to keep this blog firmly under sovereign Georgy Lover control. This blog is not about Saddam, it's about Georgy.

I hope Ashcroft doesn't seize my computer after having said all this. Really, there is nothing to find on my computer but the pathetic vices of a lonely old guy who loves Georgy. I'll try to dig up the Saddam brood photo.

I've met Jake La Motta's Granddaughter, and you haven't

Where is Georgy? No bloggie for Georgie lately.

Today is my birthday.

Ha-ha. As if anyone gives a shit.

I'm 38. Slightly encrusted, but still pretty handsome and can deliver the goods. Well, actually, to be honest, it has been so long since I've made a delivery, that I can not say for sure whether I'm still capable, yet, theoretically I should be able to deliver.

My mother and my stepfather took me to O'Leary's in Boston for dinner, where I had a portion of Dublin style Fish 'n Chips, the size of which was fit for a mouse or perhaps a skinny rat. They had a very good atmosphere though. Played live, traditional Irish music, which help to drown out sound of my mother and stepfather, who can get rather annoying at times.

Coming back to my place I was hearing this cool radio show. The DJ was playing clips of Scorsese movies in between some very cool songs. He played this bit from "Raging Bull," and it made me think of La Motta -- not Jake La Motta, played by Robert De Nero in "Raging Bull," but Jake La Motta's granddaughter, who I met in my college dorm room. She was with her boyfriend at the time, who happened to be there to do some business with my roommate. I remember her as one of the nicest people I've ever met. But it's more than that. There was such lovable innocence and life to this girl. I don't remember her name. She introduced herself to me as so-and-so La Matta, then looked at me with anticipation as if I was supposed to know her. She said "La Matta..." again, as if she was trying to jog my memory ... "Raging Bull ... Jake La Matta ... I'm his granddaughter." I was impressed. But I guess more impressed with the sweet way she presented herself. We didn't talk for long. Her boyfriend wanted to go. I never saw her again. She was beautiful, but what left such a large impression on me in the 2 or 3 minutes we talked was how friendly she was to me. Most people aren't that nice to me.

Jake La Motta has said himself about how brutal and rotten he was to his wife, but he couldn't have been all that bad to have come out with such a great granddaughter.