A Portion of My Résumé: Exceptional Customer Service

August 5, 2010

The following customer complaint was emailed to the corporate offices of the company I work for. After being scolded at, I was able to intercept it from my district manager’s briefcase while she was in the bathroom (presumably wiping her butt while fingering herself).

I went to Trade Secret @ the Arnot Mall in Big Flats, NY. It was my first visit. I am very pleased with my cut, color and highlights. I am shocked, however, at the extreme lack of professionalism, that started with my initial call to make an appointment and continued until I left my stylist’s chair. I called and described what I wanted done, and asked if I could get in that evening. Two minutes of total silence…I thought perhaps a simple “hold on” or “let me check for you” would have been appropriate before leaving me hanging on the phone. Once in the salon, I was even more shocked. I was told to have a seat. I looked around and had to ask, “Uh, Where?” as there are no seats in the reception area for clients to relax in while waiting. He pointed up on the salon floor and said that I could sit in a cutting chair. While my color was processing, I decided to shop in the retail area next to the reception desk. The reception person, who I have learned by this time is Eric, answered the phone with a Trade Secret greeting then smiles and says “Oh, it’s you! I thought it was a S-T-U-P-I-D customer!” I was appalled. If I were not in the middle of a process I would have walked out right at that moment! Eric went on three breaks out in the mall while I was in the salon for 2 hours and entertained 1-3 friends at all times while in the salon. They were talking, laughing, having a great time. My stylist left her chair to greet customers, explain sales, and ring up a person because Eric was nowhere around. That was MY time he was stealing. I had a husband and 2 children waiting for me in the mall and my appointment would have been shortened by at least a half hour if my stylist did not have to wait on other customers that were Eric’s responsibility. I saw one paying customer besides myself while there. I saw one free haircolor and two separate stylists give free haircuts to friends. Upon asking my stylists when the manager would be in because I would like to speak to her, I learned that the store has no manager. Well, that was quite obvious! I love my hair. My stylist was amazing and I spent just under $100 that evening, but would I go back? Probably not unless that stylist went to another salon. All my friends love my hair and ask where I had it done. I tell them, but I also share my ridiculous experience and no one is interested in going themselves, and who could honestly blame them?

Darlene Niver
209 Meadowlark Road
Horseheads, NY 14845
(607) 734-6613
darleneniver@yahoo.com

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Posted by Eric Thomas Craven

Carnie Tales (vol.2)

March 6, 2010
ScottyGuitarCarnival season is right around the corner, and with Scotty gearing up for deployment, you can bet there’s just one thing on his mind…

S-E-X.

Lord knows there’s plenty of that awaiting him on the open road.

I sat down with Scotty to discuss the after-hours of the carnival business—when the lights go down on the ferris wheel, the pee splattered rides in Kiddie Land finally start to dry, the tarps come down on the ring toss and dunk tank…and the real games begin.

In this edition of Carnie Tales, Scotty gives us a little sex education, breaking it down to the bare essentials…

…prostitution:

I’ll be a son of a bitch if it didn’t cost me a hundred and seventy-five dollars. A hundred and seventy-five for a good fuck and a piece of blowjob. Holy shit, man, I was fuckin’ broke the next day. That was a fuckin’ hooker. Huge tits…and she has fuckin’ big tits. You can put your fuckin’ hand right on the motherfuckers. She was a good suck though. I gave it to her. I used a condom. Two. She sucked it when the rubbers were on. I said ‘leave the fuckers on.’”
…why women shouldn’t shave their pubic hair:

“I like hair down there. It tickes when it’s a little bushy. That’s why I like it. You can put it in there and get it tickled.”

…how to get more women into bed:

“Put more maple syrup on your French toast. You gotta be a man and use lots of syrup. You’ll pick up a lot of pussy that way. Girls like that. When you eat spaghetti, put Tabasco sauce in it. One time I did that and the girl I was with said ‘let’s go.’”

…and his own sexuality:

“I’ve been horny the rest of my life. Where have you guys been?”

Become friends with Scotty on Facebook. It’ll highly increase your chances of getting laid.

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Posted by Eric Thomas Craven

Carnie Tales (vol. 1)

November 5, 2009
Scotty1Scotty works the carnival circuit. Been on the road over twenty years. During the offseason, he spends his days and hard earned poker chips at the mall. He drifts from store to store, halting only to share pearls of his wisdom…scholarly knowledge from thy hallowed fairgrounds. His narratives cover a vast array of subjects—anything from the open road, to the many women and Mexicans he’s met along the way.

However, in this particular installment of Carnie Tales, we’ll touch base on just that…
…the road:

“I ride with my boss. I have to keep him awake…so he can drive. I don’t. I fall asleep. His wife bitches at me all the time. I’d like to have her. She’s hot. I’d like to have his daughter better.”

…women:

“I went with a girl once. For seven years. She went down to Virginia, got pregnant by another man. I broke up with her. He came up here, said “I want to meet ya.” I met him…right on the ground. That’s stupid. Cheated on my woman. I graduated with her. I met her in sixth grade. I went with her eight years. She went down to Florida…Virginia. Come back pregnant by another man. That was the end of it.”

…more women:

“I went to a whore bar one time…I’ll be a son of a bitch…she grabs my cock, takes me in the other room…and strokes it.”

…and Mexicans:

“I had this one Mexican, ten years ago…runnin’ the merry-go-round. Every time he’d go underneath it…he liked to jack off in front of ‘em. You can’t do that when people are on it…because the pedal is outside where the front gate is.”

Become friends with Scotty on Facebook. You have much to learn from him.

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Taking Pity on the Second City: Our Trip to Chicago

October 29, 2009

Whipple_StScreeching Weasel and Alkaline Trio, my two all-time favorite midwestern bands, sharing a stage on their home turf of Chicago, Illinois…and it happens to fall on Tony Shaddock’s birthday. Clearly, this event was constructed from the ground up with us in mind. After ordering five tickets, only three of which were claimed, Tony, Yetti and I set off on an epic pilgrimage, one that would reunite us with old pal, Doug “L’il Fart” McLaren…and change the course of history forever.

The astonishing photography and masterfullly composed captions and anecdotes herein chronicle our expedition.

Now let’s enjoy the Miami of Canada—Chicago!

October 10th
10:23 am
On a spiritual journey to the Windy City with Yetti & Tony Shaddock.

10:58 am
Three guys in a car…and I’m breathin’ on Easy Street? Someone needs to spark up this roadtrip with a wet hot fart.

11:18 am
“You boys ain’t from around here…you have no business o’er at Joncy gorge. Take yer city haircuts n’ go on, git!”
Joncy_Gorge

1:18 pm
Sleeping like a baby…particularly one of the dead babies in that sack he’s resting his head on.
Sack_of_Dead_Babies

5:46 pm
Who goes over my travel route before every roadtrip & makes sure to redirect me on a Dunkin Donutsless path? Whoever you are, go get raped.

8:23 pm
We crossed time zones unscathed. Hey, 7 o’clock, we have a second chance together…try not to fuck it up this time.

9:39 pm
Chicago arrival. First on the agenda? SUH FUCKEN REAL DEEP DISH CHICAGUH PIZZUH.

11:21 pm
Sippin’ on a 312 Urban Wheat Ale at some Korean dive bar. L’il Fart ordered a “hot sucky” and all he got was some lousy drink in a ceramic flask. If Asian fellatio is this hard to come by (pun intended, LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!) in the Big Onion, I’m not impressed. On the bright side—according to this coaster, my Survival Kit is almost half completed…
Bar_Coaster
Two down, three to go. Baby just needs a new pair of shoes, a designer purse…and flashin’ my juicy tits for some fancy beads should be easy enough in this toddlin’ town. Bring on the night!

October 11th
Happy birthday, baby Shaddock.
Baby_Shaddock

1:51 am
My heart’s telling me this is a Rum n’ Coke in my hand, but my brain’s telling me it’s Roofies n’ NyQuil. I need to flee this crowded bar and get some shut-eye. I know the risk of walking these streets at night with only two-fifths of my Survival Kit…but I simply cannot go on. No rest for the wicked. Mr. McLaren, gimme a firm floor to sleep on.

12:02 pm
Good morning, city cats.
City_Cats

12:28 pm
Not even birthday songs or burger crowns will wake this tiny dancer.
Tiny_Dancer

2:10 pm
May I wax philosophical for a moment?

When you’re soaking your meat bone shaft-deep in some poon tang, you’re in a quaint village of physical pleasure the guys and I like to call “Tangtown.”

Likewise, if you and a buddy are forming a “wobbly H” with a gal, you know, having a little ménage à trois, or, in laymen’s terms, tag-teaming the ol’ broad…I’ve just determined that must be a suburb of Tangtown called “Tagtown.”

Now, it all sounds well and fine…however, after pondering this for a while over my morning coffee, I’ve uncovered a paradox.

If “Tagtown” is basically “Tangtown” with an additional person…you gain a friend, yet lose the “n”…

Is it really worth it?

7:24 pm
After standing out in the cold for roughly an hour, desperately asking every passerby: “tickets?” or, when I was feeling articulate: “do you need tickets?”—I finally sold my extra. I lost $10 on it and missed who-knows how many bands while I was out here. Fuck you, Horseheads bums, for not taking it off my hands. “Whoa, ETC…chillax, bro. You know how much I hate awesomeness. Hey, when you get back, can you help me build a shelter incase the Soviets attack the U.S. with rainbow-colored FUN Bombs?”

8:00 pm
A secret Teenage Bottlerocket gig after the show tonight? Free entry? Busing provided? Don’t mind if I do.

8:16 pm
Dude shitting in stall with no door. Tons of dudes walking by. Pants off. T.p. rolled away from him at one point.
Shit_Guy

8:45 pm
I have waited 14 years for this moment. I’m watching Screeching Weasel. In Chicago. I rule.
Screeching_Weasel_setlist_101109

10:22 pm
Now I’m watching Alkaline Trio. In Chicago. I’m back to rule again.

No idea what time it is.
I’m actually writing this portion in retrospect, because the battery in my phone died shortly after Alkaline Trio finished their set. This is a blessing in disguise, of course, because at this level of intoxication, I’m liable to drop, throw or trade my iPhone for a cigarette.

Waiting for a shuttle bus to take us across town to the secret Teenage Bottlerocket show.
bus__stop

Speaking of which…if you’re in the Chicago school district and awesome enough to sit in the back of the bus with people of premium-grade superiority…and the seat in front of you has “www.anewlow.net for free pussy” written on it; wreathed with monstrous, cum spurting penises both uncircumcised and snipped (we covered all bases)…know your little pockmarked butt cheeks are sharing a seat once warmed by the chiseled asses of your heroes, Tony Shaddock and Eric Thomas Craven.
back_of_the_bus

Teenage Bottlerocket were pretty rad…
Teenage_Bottlerocket

…though, I’ve got to be honest, I want less of this sappy lovey dovey crap and more songs about aliens, zombies and spies. Bring back The Lillingtons.

October 12th (Columbus Day)
Happy Rape, Pillage, Murder and Enslave the Indians day! Fuck you, Chris Columbus.

10:24 am
Interesting postscript to dude shitting in stall with no door:
Shit_Guy2

1:26 pm
The “Zombie”:
Zombie
That’s three shots of espresso, two cups of coffee, steamed milk and whipped cream topped with chocolate and caramel drizzle…I’ll be walkin’ outta here with Shaddock teeth.
ShaddockTeeth

5:27 pm
I got some pussy in Chicago.
Pussy

5:40 pm
Sightseeing in Logan Square.
sightseeing

6:11 pm
The Sears Tower. Chicago, Illinois.
Sears_Tower

6:20 pm
Goodbye, Chicago.
Homeless

7:06 pm
Family reunion in Rolling Prairie, Indiana.‎
Family-Reunion

7:16 pm
Crossed back into good ol’ Eastern Standard Time. 6pm October 12, 2009, it’s a shame we never got to know eachother…

October 13th

2:55 am
Back in New York. Made the 911 call on this l’il number—car in a ditch off the interstate. We were really hoping to see a dead body…but she was fine.
911_call

3:40 am
Yetti got caught pissin’ in public. Amateur. Then allowed them to search his car? Amateur. I’m just glad they didn’t look under my seat. That’s right, I’m bad. Real bad. Michael Jackson.
Cops

5:28 am
Alright, gang, you can rest easy now…we’ve landed back in Horseheads, safe n’ sound.

CubsHowever, before I go and wrap this up, I’d like to address a pretty big concern of mine…

While in Chicago, we hopped a train downtown and went to Millenium Park…only to be told by the officer on duty that the park closes at night.

Rape is already a pretty challenging sport…we don’t need the level of difficulty raised. Are we honestly expected to abduct some broad OUTSIDE the park, sneak her in past security and just use the park grounds for some sort of exotic effect? Parks are good for prowling. The rape itself isn’t performed within the perimeters of a park for atmosphere, but for the convenience of supplying victim(s), isolation, and, in the event that you take things too far, providing a satisfactory plot for interment.

Way to take the fun out of nightlife in the big city, Chicago.

Furthermore, I’ve done some research…and apparently Chicago doesn’t report its statistics for rape. Check out this city crime comparison from 2006.

I’ll tell you why Chicago’s rape statistics aren’t available: NO ONE GETS RAPED IN CHICAGO.

What kind of city has the rape record of a happy suburban cul-de-sac out of the 1950′s with a “neighborhood watch” program ? Not a very good one, I’ll tell you that right now.

Hey Chicago, go get raped.

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Posted by Eric Thomas Craven

Conspiracy Theory…

September 23, 2009

I have just uncovered some startling new evidence in the baffling mystery of Sir Elton John’s true origins.

This side-by-side comparison of Elton John and Jack Osbourne proves, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Elton John is the son of heavy metal legend, Ozzy Osbourne.

EltonOsbourne

Unfortunately, this discovery unearths more questions than answers…

Is the relation between Elton and Ozzy a joint coverup by Sony Music Entertainment and Warner Music Group to preserve the integrity of Black Sabbath? Are Elton John and Jack Osbourne the same person, or just hideous twins? If they are, in fact, the same person, is Elton’s “Jack wig” composed strictly of pubic hair, or just mostly? Whose pubes are they? Was the wig made by ventilating the pubic hair, or did he go with the “vintage” weft method? Is it also possible that he combined the two techniques, using a weft for the main part of the wig and then ventilating pubic hair at the edges and partings to give it a fine finish?

Only one thing is certain at this point…Elton John is a dangerous man and he must be executed.

If you encounter this imposter, remember, he received a knighthood from Queen Elizabeth II…and an honorable death for a knight is a swift beheading.

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six-word Starbucks reviews (vol. 2)

September 19, 2009

Green Tea Frappuccino
High calorie, grass flavored icy sludge.

White Chocolate Mocha
High fructose paste in a cup.

Iced Mocha
Lightly sweetened anal discharge, over ice.

Coffee Frappuccino
Coffee “flavor” blended with synthetic byproducts.

Caffè Americano
Snobby way to ask for coffee.

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I missed…

September 14, 2008

Toilet paper should come in rolls of plush, absorbent, flushable gloves…not awkward, difficult-to-maneuver, foldable square sheets. Each finger on T.P. Gloves™ would provide for easy insertion, allowing you to get in there and really dig out any unwanted brown moisture (or unpleasant crust, depending on how long you typically sit on the toilet reading Cosmopolitan with an open hole)…then again, T.P. Mittens™ would offer a unique scooping alternative for those of us with looser anal cavities.

Most importantly, the palm coverage of these revolutionary new products would prevent mishaps (like the one pictured above) from constantly happening to innocent people around the world.

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six-word Starbucks reviews

July 6, 2008

Lemonade Blended Beverage
Cold, chunky, lemon scented corn syrup.

Grande sugar-free Vanilla Latte, “skinny,” no foam
Muddy water for cuntish old hags.

Mocha Frappuccino
A coffee-esque, toilet flavored McDonalds milkshake.

Starbucks Brewed Coffee
Ground fresh…bagged, shipped…served stale.

Caramel Macchiato
Celebrate your appreciation of tooth decay.

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What a “lovely” day.

May 16, 2008

I got back to my house 20 minutes from the time I’d left, with a thirst for more than just the morning coffee in my right hand. It is Tuesday, a day in which new music and movies are released nationwide on digital formats for our consumer needs. I hadn’t anticipated any particular new releases, but I knew I’d find something, anything to put further stress on my iPod’s hard drive in no more than thirty seconds of riffling through the iTunes store.

I hit the 128 kb/s jackpot when I discovered AFI had a new album out!

I immediately purchased the album and gulped down my coffee with great anticipation as the songs downloaded to my computer and transferred over to my iPod. I cancelled my 12:30 business luncheon and went out for a long nature walk to really absorb the new songs; to take in every note and become one with the music.

I’d like to share with you my review as it appears on iTunes. I typically write six-word record reviews, but this release is so special, so enchanting…I felt the need to go above and beyond–a reflection, if you will, of the album itself.

(click to enlarge)

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the bear claw

December 11, 2007

It attacked me from behind, so to speak.

The buildup was fairly steady; there were no complications in the delivery, which was conveniently timed and effortlessly consummated; it had a soft, almost spongy texture and a subtle piquancy…yet, in its wake: a menacing formation…

…a bear claw.

Not to be confused with the pastry delight of the same name…this was more than some inanimate cluster with a coincidental likeness. I’d first believed this to be the gentle paw of some sort of aquatic bear, reaching out to tickle my clean-shaven ball sack…or then, perhaps lacerate it; as a savage, bloodthirsty beast would; and ostentatiously march it back to the darkened sewers of Horseheads from whence he came.

With irreplaceable (not to mention above average in both size and performance) assets dangling within his reach, I ultimately chose not to trust this unknown dweller of the deep and made a harsh, but instinctual move.

As you can see, he fought with every ounce of his life as I flushed the toilet. The claw marks left in the porcelain only hint at the potential damage that might’ve claimed my strapping (yet, given the circumstances: vulnerable) lady pleasurin’ mega machine. Looking back, however…my genitals, ravishing as they are, should’ve been the least of my worries…for I might not have made it out of that Barnes & Noble bathroom alive. I was lucky.

I don’t have any solutions to this problem, shall it surface again…as I, myself, have many questions left unanswered. My only advice for the next time you’re squirtin’ chunks is to keep one eye between the thighs…because you never know just when you’ll have a close encounter of the turd kind.

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Six-Word Record Reviews

December 4, 2007

Gwen Stefani The Sweet Escape
An elaborate prank on gullible retards?

Coheed and Cambria No World For Tomorrow
Impenetrable sex shield for husky virgins.

Kanye West Graduation
Black music for white douche bags.

My Chemical Romance Black Parade
A rock opera without AIDS? Gay.

Ashlee Simpson I Am Me
Art is dead. Fat chicks rejoice.

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the proposition

November 29, 2007

On June 18th of this year, at approximately 10:57 AM, I received the first in a series of emails from a 42 year old Horseheads man that I’m just gonna go ahead and refer to as “Mark”. Mark, evident by the title of this piece, offered me quite an interesting proposition…one that unfortunately, due to the intense preproduction details of Son of a Bitch: Part III, I neglected to take him up on. Though our correspondence sadly ended after a just few short hours–I’m hoping he’s still out there, waiting, reading…and willing, all the more, to pay me for my services. After all, the holidays are upon us, and I could always use some extra cash.

Now, without further ado…our exchange, in its entirety:

Mark:
if your that dude from barnes & noble I would love to spank you. would you say you are small, avg, larger than avg., or larger than avg. i’m for real. might even consider $ to watch you fly solo if you know what i mean. need to be discrete.

ETC:
My penis has been mistaken as a monument downtown for years now.

Mark:
LOL Just what I wanted to hear!! I knew you were hung!! If you knew no one would ever know would you show it for cash?

ETC:
Show it how?

Shake my hips and twirl it like a propeller? Slap it against the inside of a urinal and give it a cold shower? Flick the tip purple? Hold it like a gun and give my best impersonation of Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver? Dip it in spoiled mayonaise? Get a paint set from the dollar store and decorate it like a WWII warplane?

I need specifics, Mark.

Mark:
Just show it. Take it out. At a urinal. In a car. Dressing room somewhere. Your call. If you make it hard that would be great. Macy’s dressing rooms would work. Just go in and I can look under or somethinig. I’ll slide $ in first. can I trust you?

ETC:
My associate (no worries, he lives in Virginia) warns me that I’m walking dickfirst into a rape scenario. That’s a little unnerving. I mean, something like that would require at least another five bucks.

Mark:
I’m not into rape scenes. I understand your apprehensive. this is way out of the box. think about it. let me know what works for you. again my 1 priority is privacy. if I had any idea you would tell someone if you see my out and about in public i would rather die than do this. i can’t make it myself any clearer.

Mark:
let me explain myself. i’m not a wack job. bit of a pervert… maybe. i’m a professional male here in horseheads and privacy is everything to me. i have to stay on the down low and need to be assured that no one would ever know if we did do something like that. if not.. no problem. i’m gone. won’t hear from me again. just willing to pay $ to see what ya got. the more you show the more $$. you have a very unique look and now that i’ve seen your myspace i can tell personality too. not one to “judge” people it seems. that is why i felt comfortable sending you msg. anyway.. consider it. you don’t even have to see me if you don’t want. i’m sure that could be worked out. later.

ETC:
Feel free to bring a headscarf and black ski mask, just leave your sword at home.

Mark:
You got it! i’ll be generous. the better the show the better the $. it would suck if you had a little p p. a chance i’m willing to take.

Mark:
where is the most unusual place you jerked off?

Behind the counter of my most recent summer job…during business hours, Mark. To answer your question. The very location I relished our sole, tender discourse…

Coincidence? Most likely. We never had any customers, which made it quite lonely in there. But hey, you never know what was going on deep in my subconscious…

Look me up.

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shitbag extraordinaire

November 26, 2007

Yes, this nearly spherical woman (who waddles into Barnes & Noble Café four times a week, always carrying in an unreasonable stack of books she has no intent of purchasing; on average, will sit for six hours, reading as much as she can–as if she were in a library, drinking everyone out of the complimentary water offered at the condiment bar; never puts away the aforementioned books, generally leaves quite a mess behind and rarely leaves until 5 minutes after the store closes) is actually wearing retail eyeglasses–borrowed from a merchandise rack somewhere in the store…complete with sales and security tags almost entirely restricting her field of vision.

It doesn’t get any better than this, folks. God bless America.

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baby on board

August 8, 2007

Is it just me, or does seeing “baby on board” in the rear windshield of the car ahead of you make you hold down your horn, speed up, tailgate, pass recklessly on a winding double line, brake-check and toss all your trash out the window at them??

“Oooo, I have a fucking baby!”

Shut the hell up and get off the road! You have no more rights or privileges than the rest of us! Get that ugly little shit out of your backseat and back on your wife’s tit where it belongs!

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vinegar toes

August 1, 2007

This is my home-style recipe for vinegar toes:

•First, prepare by neglecting to trim your toenails. The longer they are, the more crud will collect underneath them. This is good for aromatic longevity. Once the growth of distal edge on your big toe has reached half a centimeter, you’re ready for the next step.
•DO NOT shower for at least one week. The longer you self-marinate, the more BANG in your tang.
•DO NOT wear socks. This allows you to really soak in spices from the shoe leather. It’s also good for color–you want to go for a low to medium yellowish/brownish hue, if possible.
•Aggressive exercise. This will speed up perspiration rate and causes vigorous shoe rubbing, which is good for calluses that lock in natural flavors.

troubleshooting tips:

•For best results – prepare during the hot, muggy month of August.
•If you’re not getting the desired fragrance, try one of two things: a) If results are too weak – increase the pungency by walking barefoot across the floor of a public restroom, or locker room, if accessible. b) If results are too strong – try urinating on your feet to neutralize the odor.

If you’d like to refer to an unprecedented example of vinegar toes to further improve your own efforts–hunt me down and remove my shoes for a waft of zestiest batch this season.

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