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8:44 a.m. - 2005-04-29


I bought a snow machine about a month ago because, by God, you ain't nobody unless you have a machine that can make artificial snow at the drop of a motherfucking hat.

Since motherfucking hats are dropped at an alarming rate around here, I found it best to invest in this lil' gem.

I got the machine about three weeks ago and stared at it.

I had forgotten to order snow juice.


Y'see ... you ain't nobody if you have a snow machine and no motherfucking snow juice.

So the motherfucking snow juice was ordered via the internet.

The company sent me an email thanking me for thinking of them when it came time to order snow juice.

I flirted with the idea of mailing them back, thanking them for thanking me, but that idea fell by the wayside because I had more important ideas to tend to like my latest invention ... pork flavored toothpaste ... which will be all the rage come 2007 ... you just motherfucking watch, dude.

The email also included what is commonly known as a "tracking number" where you can monitor where in the hell your package of snow juice is at any given moment of the day.

I went to and entered my tracking number.

It was still at the building. Hadn't been shipped yet.

I hit "Refresh" about 90,210 times in the next 24 hours before it finally said that it had been shipped.

Three days later it was in my city and was scheduled to be loaded on to a truck and delivered to me.

The scheduled delivery date was last Wednesday, April 20th.

That was the last motherfucking time anyone has seen my motherfucking snow juice.

My first call to Fed Ex was on Saturday morning.

"Ah!" Beverly said. "It's on the truck! You'll have your motherfucking snow juice on Monday! I promise! We're motherfucking Fed Ex, bitch! We don't lose motherfucking Snow Juice!!"

"Thank you," I said. "I will wait patiently until Monday for my package of snow juice so I can amaze and thrill people at parties with this innovative and fresh invention!"

Monday came.

And went.

No motherfucking snow juice.

Tuesday came.

And went.

Still no motherfucking snow juice.

So I call Fed Ex to play the "Where the fuck is my motherfucking snow juice?" game with whomever answered the phone.

A fellow by the name of Chris was my lucky contestant.

Chris was a bit more helpful than Beverly.

"Your motherfucking snow juice is being inspected," he said.

"Huhmotherfuckingwhat?" I said.

"Apparently it was a suspicious package and it was sent to our inspection department to see if it was hazardous materials," he said.

"It's motherfucking snow juice!" I cried. "I wouldn't drink the shit, but I wouldn't use it to make motherfucking bombs either!"

"I'll research this matter and call you right back," Chris said.

That was the last I heard from Chris.

Wednesday night, still no motherfucking snow juice.

I called and spoke to LaQuisha.

LaQuisha was the most helpful of all.

"According to my records, it's on the truck and will be delivered to you today!" LaQuisha said with a bounce in her voice.

"Wonderful!" I said.

"But you will need to be home to sign for it," she said.

"Ooooooo," I said. "NOT so wonderful. You see, I work for a motherfucking living and can't sit at home all day to wait on a package."

LaQuisha decided to take that extra step that all Fed Ex employees do when such a problem arises.

"If you can stay home until noon, I will have your driver deliver it before noon," she said.

"Back to 'Wonderful!'," I said. "LaQuisha, you have just made many motherfucking future artificial snow lovers very happy indeed!"

"Thank you for choosing Fed Ex!" she said.

(It's not like I CHOSE Fed Ex. Fed Ex was chosen for me by the Snow Juice people. But I didn't feel like bursting her bubble at this point.)

So I called in to work and said "I won't be in until this afternoon as I have some motherfucking snow juice to sign for."

"Fuck you," Work replied.

"Right back at'cha," I shouted before slamming down the cell phone, making very little impact on work since slamming down a cell phone just sounds as if you dropped it.

By noon on Wednesday ... you guessed it ... only because I told you earlier ... no motherfucking snow juice.

So I called last night before going to work.

This time, I asked for the manager.

Cindy was the manager on duty.

Cindy swore to me that everyone else that I had dealt with was a piece of motherfucking shit and that SHE was the goddess who would find my snow juice.

SHE was going to interview the driver for my area to see what the problem was.

SHE was going to search every package on the dock and in the warehouse and by God ... she was going to find my motherfucking snow juice.

SHE was going to call me back before 9 p.m. and tell me exactly what the problem was and how we would fix it.

9:00 came.

(Dead silence with crickets chirping in the background)

I may be mentally slow, but I have to believe that Fed Ex has lost my snow juice and will not admit to losing it, nor are in any hurry to solve the motherfucking problem.

Bottom line ...

If ANY of you motherfuckers EVER use Fed Ex for ANYTHING, I will hunt your motherfucking ass down and motherfucking drown you in the nearest motherfucking lake because FED EX SUCKS THE BIGGEST AMOUNT OF MOOSE COCK I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE MOTHERFUCKING LIFE.


Feel better now.

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