dear wachovia/wells fargo/morons

In 2006, I was in the most beautiful, perfect love story Earth has ever known. Humans crawled from the primordial ooze so we might, over a period of millennia, evolve through the process of trial and error, learn and experience just what a perfect connection between two humans could be, so when she and I met, the stars aligned and true love happened.

Then she screwed all my male friends, half of my female friends, and most of the bums and hobo vagrants in the neighborhood. Apparently, there were people waiting for their turn, in a line, down the block, with an ice cream vender and a mobile lunch truck guy each making a good living off of serving them. She stole all the money out of the joint checking account and used our most intimate secrets as public joke fodder at my expense. Four years later, I’m still finding credit cards maxed out in my name that I just add to the pile. Don’t know who that Jimmy Choo guy is, but there should be a wing of his mansion dedicated to me with a framed brass plaque on the wall and a little light shining on it.



Sooooo, it is 2010, and Wachovia is still sending me statements on a bank account that I have been trying to close for four years. That chic has married another man, divorced him, and changed her name back to her madden name. I have moved three times, to three different states, and I have never given an address change to them. Yet in my mail box today, just as I have received every quarter for the past four years, is a three page statement on the account I have implicitly commanded they close. The account contains .23. Yep. You read right, twenty three pennies. I have written these imbecilic buffoons over and over and over… I have called over and over and over…

The quarterly statement has a post mark that shows a postage of .42. How much money has this company lost over the last four years by printing the three page statement, and mailing it to me? Not to mention the carbon footprint of mail delivery trucks that have to cart this three page statement for .23 all over the United States.

My dear Wachovia, Wells Fargo has bought you and I pray they will bring a modicum of hope to your inadequacies. Burying my money in a mason jar in the back yard is preferable to having been subjected to you reminding me of that bitches name every three months for the past four years. I have tried being nice, I have tried being rude, and I have pressed 1 to hear english only to get someone who can’t speak it.

Take the .23 and shove it.


2 Responses to “dear wachovia/wells fargo/morons”

  1. haha 23 cents?! wow. 🙂 Your posts crack me up. I’ve added a new album to my blog (and two new blog posts) and I’m anxiously awaiting the precious Steve comments 🙂 Happy day!! I’m going to Knight and Day with the Hungarian postdoc. I think I’m a third wheel… fifth wheel with three people? Nonetheless I can make fun of Tom Cruise trying to be a hardass!

  2. Precious Steve Comments? Awwww yeah bouy!

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