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Operation:  Sneak the Snake up the Ass
By: Alex Anderson

Once upon a time in a land not so far away, in fact, this very land that I still reside upon here in North Dakota, I was but a poor little boy sitting outside of North Fargo’s  Hornbacher’s grocery store playing my guitar while people threw change in my open guitar case. I would sit there in hopes that a free spirited young blonde with pierces through her delicates would let me hitch a ride with her to the West.  West Acres in Fargo, ND - home of the West Acres Shopping Mall Center Extravaganza Palooza.  Well, maybe there was no guitar and maybe I was just sitting on a bench eating a brat with mustard and relish outside of Hornbacher’s grocery store with my buddy Mike, with whom we would petition old people to give us their change from their purchases.  Regardless, the point here is that I was poor.  But things changed.  Oh yes, they changed.

It must have been somewhere around 8^th grade when I got the job that changed my life forever.  I was to be a professional newspaper delivery associate for the district of avenues 2^nd south to 20^th south here in Fargo, ND.  Unfortunately, no matter however long of a name that I came up with to call myself, I was still in reality just an average paperboy being driven around by his stepfather delivering papers before most people even realize that they are indeed alive for yet another day in their hellish existences.  Nonetheless, my life was changed forever as I was introduced to a little somethin-somethin that I like the call the Green’s beans with melted cheese.  Ugh, who am I kidding, I just call it money.  The summary point here is that I was now a man with something to lose!  Unintended foreshadowing... pay no attention.

With my newfound income of $400 dollars a month (no, I don’t know my hourly rate, because I got paid $400 every month, it didn’t seem fluctuate based on, well, anything) I was able to afford just about anything I ever wanted.  Like new videogames and t-shirts and weekly trips to the glory hole in that alley near Carl Ben Middle School.  But really, I didn’t spend it on that stuff.  In fact, I didn’t spend it at all.  I put it all in the bank.  And boy how the money racked up.  It was great; I had all the money in the world and not shit in hole to spend it on.  It just sort of sat there collecting what I like to call, after-10-years-the-rate-at-which-this-sum-of-money-is-collecting-on-itself- will-prove-to-be-less-than-that-of-the-rate-of-inflation-that-it-was-supposed-to- be-matching-if-not-exceeding-Interest or, ATYTRAWTSOMICOIWPTBLTTOTROITIWSTBMINE-Interest for short.  If you have trouble remembering that, I understand.  I used to have trouble with it as well before I came up with a pneumonic device for remembering all the letters: Apples Taste Yummy, Try Red Apples With Tapioca, Some Others Might Ingest Cucumber Oil, I Would Personally Try Biting Licorice That Tastes Old, Togetherness Reminds Old Indians That Italy Was So Terrible Because Mimes Invented Nude Epistemology.  Of course that’s just how I remember it... there are plenty of other variations... for instance, some people replace Red with Rouge.  If you can remember where in the hell, I was going with this congratufuckinlations, because I sure as dick can’t.

Oh yeah, I finally decided to spend all that hard earned money one day, as I realized that it was mostly collecting dust in the bank.  Because, they actually set aside my share of the money in a separate part of the bank that collected many dust mites (in case you were wondering.)  Anyway, after brushing the dust particles off all my Benjamins, as the street folk tend to call them, I promptly purchased a BRAND NEW used 1994 Ford Taurus a.k.a. the Ford Suckitus, if your floating on my drift, or something.  This seemed like a great thing to do with my shit-tons of money at the time but in retrospect, I’d have been better off using Mr. Franklin for disposable jizzrags.

 *How is MS Word not familiar with Jizzrag as a completely acceptable term for spermglove... oh come on you gotta give me spermglove.  Ha, cum on.

The Taurus, while a complete babe-magnet and site of many unplanned historic fart wars, didn’t run that well and eventually all but dropped its tranny.  I don’t really know what drop means in this regard, but I can go as far to say that tranny is short for Transylvania... you’ll have to figure out the rest for yourself, because when it comes to cars, ... uh, cigars?

The Taurus marked the beginning of the end for the whole not needing to sell my balls for cash era of my life.  From there it would be all down hill.  I would realize that I wasn't making enough money any more from running around at daybreak chucking papers at old people.  I would have to get a real job, a job that required my full attention and effort at all times, a job that would earn me not only more money, but also some more well deserved respect.  So, it remains a mystery as to why I ended up at A&W/Long John Silvers.

I would come to call the restaurant my home, the dubs, or the shithole, depending on either circumstance or mood.  I liked it at first, it seemed great.  I was making more money than ever before, if only because I fucked up on my tax form, and I was enjoying my new financial freedom.  I started to buy a DVD or two every single paycheck and I would go out to eat about 30 fucking times a week.  But as time wore on, I had to work less at the shithole.  It was becoming unbearable to be there and my paychecks were declining as such.  It came to point where I felt as if I had only enough money to pay for the gas in my car to drive myself to and from work.  It was terrible and I contemplated suicide, cause I was losing my sight and losing my mind, I just wish somebody would have told me that I was fine, but nothing was alright and nothing was fine, OOO, I was running and crying, and I couldn’t go on... living that way.  I feel ya Papa Roach.

So even though I was making a considerably larger amount of money than I had made in my past, I wasn’t making enough, and I couldn’t work at the shithole much longer because the pain was too much.  And I cut my heart open and I sewed it back shut, but it wasn’t enough, I had to move on with my own life... which was accelerated by the fact that Warren Ackley shut the business down a couple weeks before Christmas.  I’ve always been a sucker for early presents. Err...

Eventually I ended up where I am now.  In the same swizzle stick up my pee-hole position that I was in before.  You see, recently my life has been changing quite a bit because of a sudden shift in my financial situation.  I never really understood the old adage, quote, limerick, whatever, that "the more things change, the more they stay the same." And to this day, still have no fucking clue what that means. Huh.

The thing is, since my being let go at A&W, I have gotten a full-time job that regularly kicks my bony white ass.  I go there 5 sometimes 6 days a week for no less than 9 hours at a time and it pays me pretty well, but my extra income always seems to  immediately allocate itself to bullshit expenses.  These include things like my cell phone bill, car payment for car that I don’t even drive yet, interest on my retarded student loans, cable bill, internet cable bill, monthly rent payment, gas money, car insurance, and finally the reason that I wanted to sit down and write this shit to begin with, the fucking electric bill.  So why do I chose the electric bill; what about this, (by comparison) small bill could piss me off so much?  You may be surprised.

First of all, I started getting a bit queasy when I saw that I was going to be paying a $100.00 security deposit, because apparently the initial $300.00 that I gave my landlord doesn’t cover excessive, pleasure driven privileges such as electricity.  I mostly started getting pissed when I a saw the pathetic explanation of the security deposit expense on the bill.  Instead of saying something like, "This is a one time expense that can be earned back or given as credit towards your future account.. blah, blabbity, shit splashback, blah," it opted for the more business like, "This security deposit must be paid by the due date or your account with us will be presumed deactivated and power to your complex will be shut off leaving you without cold food in the fridge and without heat to keep your blood flowing." (Yes, the heat is the same as the electricity... don’t ask me.)  The electric company had already got off on a bad foot with me because of their unfriendly approach to the whole $100.00 thing, but what really put me over the edge was a little program with which they decided to introduce me.  You see, also included with my first bill was something that I found very unsettling, perhaps because I am evil or perhaps because I was just in the presence of the force.  It was a piece of paper explaining the program that I had unknowingly signed up for when I decided that I wanted electricity surging into my new apartment.

This is Written/Typed in the Devil’s Handwriting/Font

In guessing that nobody will take the time to read the whole thing, I will go into detail with some of the bullshit that comprises this lackluster attempt at ripping me off one penny at a time.

In short, when you sign up for electricity through this ass hair company they let you take part in an amazing organization that can reap big benefits for the community as a whole.  You see, Operation Round Up ® is "a program that Cass County Electric members can participate in to help provide financial assistance to organizations in our region."

Holy shit!  Can you believe that by just rounding up my bill to the next whole dollar amount every month that I could be giving SIX WHOLE DOLLARS to organizations in need?!?  That’s stupendous!  There’s only one question left, how can I sign up for this optional program?

What’s that, I just send in this form at the bottom and I’ll be signed up?  Great!  Huh, oh wait, what’s this?  How mother sucking her own kin off great is this?  I’M ALREADY FUCKING SIGNED UP!!!  "If you’re interested in this participating in Operation Round Up," after reading that you’ve been enrolled automatically then you should probably go straight to hell.  Holy fucking Abraham.  This is the biggest load of horse piss I have encountered in quite some time.  I cannot believe that they get away this shit.  "Duh, if you don’t want to participate you’ll have to cut off the coupon at the bottom of this page and send it in with 3 proof of purchase barcodes and a Minnesota Twins’ homer hanky signed by a player that never played baseball, but did win an Olympic medal for figure skating."  I shouldn’t have to call your toll-free number or dig up my account statement identification number and check some fucking box to un-signup for some fagot assed program that Governor Fuck Dog Stool created with his finger up his ass.

For the record, I probably would have participated in Governor Dog Stool’s creation had I been GIVEN THE OPTION TO DO SO.  Now Cass County can get by without my 6 dollars a year, because I refuse to be taken in by your sleazy attempts to sneak the snake up my ass.

I encourage anyone and everyone, regardless of location and electric company to take part in my very own program, to be unveiled as of now.  Operation: Sneak the Snake up the Ass.  Simply print the document below and send it in to the following address:

Cass County Electric Cooperative
PO Box 11118
Fargo, ND 58106-1118