Let’s Shawshank the fuck out of this crap
Time To Bite The Blowdart And Make This Shit Work
I’ve been doing some self-reflection
It all started when I hit up Tony Stubbelbine, the CEO of Medium, on that horrifically named thing called Masto Don. (Which also happened to be the name of the local paedo where I grew up.)
I asked Tony why, only a year ago, a poorly performing story of mine would still get over a hundred views, whereas my best-performing articles now get an average of 32 views.
I won’t go into the conversation. I was surprised such a person was willing to speak to an average, double-testicled human such as myself. But basically, he said it was my fault for not doing my own marketing. The interaction ignited a flame in my perineum, and I spent years pouring over the ocean of refined goat spunk that Medium had become.
It culminated in a written attack on one of my favourite humans on Medium, Smillew Rahcuef. I accused him of giving reacharounds to Tony Stubbelbine in the shower during their lunch break.
And to be fair, his language towards TS in his article was a little slippery for my liking. Especially the way he kept calling him Coach Tony. It reminded me of my school coach, Mr Nackleson, and his live moustache, who used to watch us shower to ensure we always followed the school’s strict compulsory shower rules. Then the way he’d invite you into his office, which smelt like sherbet lemons, and he’d take off his red tracksuit and —
Frank, this isn’t about your trauma
Ahem, yes. Quite right.
So, I had just written a damning comment towards my friend Smillew. And I sat there afterwards, smoking a peppermint cigar, and I thought,
Why has it come to this?
I mean, sure, I’m not the only one complaining about this crap.
But there comes the point where you have to cease screaming into the void and persecuting anyone who doesn’t join you (Sorry, Smillew, Pal.)
There comes the point when you have to stop crying into your vanilla porridge and instead start thinking like Tim Robbins in that film where he digs the tunnel with a plastic spoon behind the nude picture of Martha Stewart.
What was it called? Schindler’s List, that’s it.
I mean, it’s fucking pointless to expect any kind of customer service these days.
Last month I spent an hour on the phone shouting at a Google representative in Manilla because YouTube had been taking my membership fee twice a month for six months and had failed to tell me. In addition, they refused to reactivate my premium membership because they were waiting for my latest payment to clear.
This fucker — I think his name was Eric or some crap was absolutely defiant.
Are you telling me you’ve double charged me for six months, and I only found out by accident? I said. You weren’t planning to tell me, and now, you refuse to activate my account even though you owe me $120 in stolen fees?
I’m sorry, Sir, there’s nothing I can do.
I should call the fucking cops. Google has been scamming me for six months.
There’s nothing I can do.
Fine, put your supervisor on.
We don’t have supervisors here, Sir.
Oh, right, so you are telling me this is some Lord Of The Flies Call centre at Google where people do whatever the fuck they want, and everything is about what Google wants because they are so fucking rich that they don’t give a fuck if you leave?
There’s nothing I can do, Sir.
That’s the world we live in now. The corporations are so huge that they just don’t give a fuck if you leave, and therefore, you have no customer power at all.
And Medium is close behind. Not that it’s anything like as big as Google, but sadly, Medium’s competition are all turds with extra piss sauce. So it’s still a monopoly. (Though, to be fair, Medium customer service has always been quite good.)
So, here we are, sitting in our cells in Medium prison.
And we can’t keep shouting at each other or Warden Tony or Smillew, that lovely bastard.
I, for one, am gonna find me a plastic teaspoon and a nude photograph of Tony Stubbelbine to put on my cell wall. Then I’m gonna start digging.
And I don’t know what the fuck that looks like. But I’m gonna find a way to get to a million followers like that Jessica Wildfanny or that black-fingernailed goth Umair. Then I’m gonna use the money Medium pays me to buy Medium, and I’m gonna make it free for everyone and give everyone who gets a boost a new washing machine with a bonus chicken inside it.
Then we’ll see who’s laughing, you motherfuckers.
Your’s sincerely
Frank Dufresne
