Erm, remember that job I loved?

OK. So I totally left the Modeling place. Never went back. Nope. Hate those MF'ers with a passion and wish the deepest of pains and misery on their spawns. They disgust me.

I was having fun for a few months playing into the whole, "I'm sooo much better than you" vibe they had going on there. Then one day like catching a whiff of a rotting carcass I woke up and realized what a douche bag I had become. Not cool with going back. Like, EVER. I have actually made it my DUTY to sabotage any stands I see in the malls or at fairs with their minions trying to lure in underage girls with promises of flash bulbs and chance meetings with Justin Bieber.

Those people actually TRAIN you to manipulate and hurt people. It's absolutely grotesque. It's all part of their scheme for world domination, I think. Part of their "Biggest Loser" Boot camp style training class is a psychology session on how to mind-fuck someone. Literally, not. even. kidding. folks. It's called Rational Emotive Behavioural Therapy and basically means you get into their head without them knowing and finger bang their brain until they believe that YOU are the only thing they need. The answer to all of their prayers, the frosting to their cake. The more tears the better. This is ACTUALLY part of training. Except they don't call it making someone cry, they call it creating VALUE. The more VALUE the better, because the more someone cries around you, the more they trust and feel a connection with you, the more connected they are with you, the better chance you have at raping their wallet.



Someone needs to take them DOWN.

Here's how it really goes. I know I had a post here before sugar coating this atrocity but now I'm totally out of that dump and feel my readers have a right to know. I'm still not going to say their name, but I will say that most of the companies out there like them, are all the same. Beware. This post is going to be brutally honest.

They seek out underprivileged girls, girls who are teased in school, girls that aren't really attractive and probably never will be, girls with low self esteem, broken families, basically anything that would make a person considered weak and they get them to come into their office for an interview.

They prey on your children, mom's and dad's, while they are at school or the mall, just hanging with their friends. They make them feel special for a second and brag about success stories to them that never really happened. They get your child hooked on the idea, on the DREAM before the sales person ("advisor") even makes initial contact with YOU. They collect information from the child that they will use against the parent later. They put on a show for you, its a mind fuck from the moment you walk in, from the video playing on the flat screens, the "models" lounging around the office, to the little quips your "advisor" says when he/she walks you back to their office to conduct your "interview". Your "advisor" by the way, is a salesperson who's ONLY goal is to find out how much money you have in your wallet and decide how much to charge you to "make your kid a star". Their paycheck DEPENDS on it.

They get you in their office that they have cleverly designed by hanging up pictures of "discoveries" of the company (Pictures we ripped out of magazines) and filling binders up with blank paper clearly showing the words ACCEPTED and NOT ACCEPTED on them and purposefully filling the "not accepted" one to the brim and putting it somewhere that you'll see it, but won't question it. (These are little tricks they teach in training) Even the pictures on the company website of discoveries are fake, none of the models they claim to have "found" were found by them at all. They sit you down, tell you this is exclusive and we have maybe 3 spots left and its only for the best of the best. They have questions designed to invoke certain emotions and dig deeper by asking things like "how does that make you feel?" and exercises in imagining their life as a model and describing words like "confidence" as feelings. On occasion, if they can't get deep enough into your psyche with all of that, they pull out the inkblots. Then they make you all cry (which I explained before), tell you how much you suck and how much better this will make you, all the while slyly finding out if you can afford the program or not. Once they are satisfied that they have the answer they need, they get your kid to the point of passing out with anticipation and then if it was decided during the interview that you have the money, they accept you. If you have allot of money, they charge you double. If you have less, they start off the price lower, and if it was determined that you are just too broke during the interview, they don't accept your child at all.

Its a scam. A malicious, calculated scam. I don't even want to talk about it anymore because it makes me so sick that they prey on a child's dreams the same way con-artists prey on the elderly and they get away with it.

Even I was tricked into buying into "the show" at first, but that's all it is, A SHOW. I was so excited to start the job so you must know these people are good at what they do. I am one jaded individual and I pride myself on how hard I make it to pull the wool over my eyes. If they did it to me, they can do it to you. Keep your heart guarded. Because they are still out there.

This has been a Public Service Announcement provided by The Bitch.

*Updates to come*

Soo many posts to write, sooo little time.

I will try to update in the coming weeks as sooo much has changed! :)

How Alejandro Became a Bastard

Above.. Not Alejandro, But Close


Christian Children's Fund


I have an illegitimate Mexican son named Alejandro. Was he the result of a torrid affair with a hot-blooded Latin man? Sadly, no. Alejandro came to me through the Christian Children’s Fund. You know those commercials where the old pervy guy wearing kakis and birkenstocks tells you that for the cost of a cup of coffee a day, you can help feed a hungry child? Yeah, I’m the person that fell for it.


You see, even though I can be very bitchy about many things, I do have a soft spot for orphans..and some days, hobos. So one day, even though I had watched those commercials a thousand times before (and usually changed the channel because, let’s face it, they’re depressing) that particular day something struck a chord in me. I promptly got online and went to their website. The first thing I got to do was pick out my kid. It’s fun! It’s like you are shopping for children although it did make me feel a tad like the people on “To Catch A Predator.”


I chose Alejandro because he was young (around 1) and he looked like he really could have been the result of a one night stand between me and a hot Mexican. So I signed up and anxiously awaited my “welcome kit” in the mail. It came a few days later and I tore open the envelope as soon as it arrived. Inside was a pic of Ali (my nickname for him) and a letter about his family. [[iframe]]d the pic immediately and secretly wished whoever took it had wiped some of the dirt off his face, but maybe they wanted him to look really poor/desperate.


The letter described his family. He was the youngest of three kids (I see the family didn’t feel the need to practice birth control) and it listed his dad’s occupation as a peasant and his mom’s as a servant. Hmm, did I accidentally sign up to support a Medieval English family? I mean, are peasant and servant really “occupations?” I think not.


I was excited anyway and wrote my first letter to the family. I also enclosed a photo of myself with my family. The guidlines for photos were very strict. I couldn’t send any photos that showed material possessions such as a car or house, I’m assuming so that the poor people wouldn’t feel even worse about themselves/life choices. So I sent a pic of my family sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner and then later realized maybe they would be pissed off to see a bunch of white people eating so much damn food. Oh well. I think it was cool though, because I got a letter back from his “real” mom thanking me for my support. I definitely got the feeling this bitch was way jealous of the amazing bond that Alejandro and I had created in such a short time span. I had dreams of Ali one day coming to the states to go to college and I could visit him on Mom’s Weekend. It would be so great.


Alas, I couldn’t keep up with the $25 a month payments. And the Christian Children’s Fund kept sending me letters asking for even more per month, those selfish bastards. So even though it killed me a little inside, I had to cut off Ali and his entire freeloading family. I’m sure his whore mother talked shit about me and tried to turn him against me. But I know one day that little Ali will find me. While Paul Simon’s “Mother and Child Reunion” plays softly in the background, Ali and I will have a glorious reconnection. I can’t wait!

Khaki Wearing Walmart Worker, I hate your fucking GUTS.

Dear whatever the fuck your name is-

I truly feel your pain. Not only do you work part-time at one of the biggest retail franchises in the world still legally promoting "slave labor" and dependance on welfare; but on the day we had our "encounter", it also seems that earlier in the shift, you had shit your pants. I was sure that because of your nearly non-existant wages and embarrassingly small employee discount, you couldn't have afforded to buy a newly pressed and less shitty pair of khakis from the neighborhood flea market, let alone from the very establishment you work in.

So I forgave you temporarily for your disgusting display of excrement.

Although this day we met you clearly were having issues, I don't understand why my simple request for you to grab me a copy of the Underworld trilogy was so hard for you to complete. You ARE working in the movies and electronics section of walmart, in case you didnt know. I stayed up, eyes burning and all til 12 am wandering aimlessly through Walmart just to get it. I had cold, hard, CASH.. 60 dollars to be exact and I wanted to blow it all on the blue-ray edition of Underworld. I am almost positive that my mere purchase of this blue-ray disc set was going to go toward paying your entire years salary, but you being the worthless, un-grateful cunt you are had to go and cop an attitude.

After waiting in line for almost an hour, when it came to be my turn to come up to the register, I approached you slowly and made eye contact for less than a nanosecond, and then you squawked "GIVE ME A SECOND!!" and put your hand up in the air as if to say, "Oh no she didn't", without actually saying it.

I thought, What a bitch. But I continued to wait in silence for you to finish doing whatever it was that you were fucking doing. Finally, after about 15 minutes, you shrugged and rolled your eyes, then did one of those tilted head, chest out, on the defensive moves before frowning and scoffing, then finally shouting "TWAT can I help you with?" I noticed your 'not wanting to be at work' attitude right from the get-go. I brushed it off moments earlier trying to think about how I would feel about myself and my job if all I did was restock DVD's, and occasionally pull out a video game for a geeky teen. There must be a requirement at Walmart as far as being borderline retarded cause it seems like I'm always running into douche-bags there. It's like when you walk in for an interview they must have a robot asking a set of questions like, "Did you eat paint chips as a child?" Or, "Were you the product of incest?".. "If you answered yes to either of these questions, Congratulations! You're Hired!" I mean honestly, what kind of gargantuan life mistakes would have to have been made in ones life to end up passing out carts and checking bags on the graveyard shift thier local Walmart? I don't even want to know.

Finally, after being distracted by the last tooth hanging in your dragon mouth and thinking, "Wow, that really resembles a piece of corn" I explained I was there to pick up the new release of Underworld. You grimaced again like you were too much of a twit and much too monsterous to come out of your little box to look for it. Just then a kid in the back with bad dandruff shouted he wanted Underworld too. So I thought, 'YES, strength in numbers, this dumb shit mongrel is gonna HAVE to find my movie now.' Of course your bitch-ass scowled like a cat in heat before walking over to the new release rack, rummaging through May 12th Midnight releases quickly before deciding that was enough work for the day and that Walmart didn't have it. But not before bending over in my face and not ONLY displaying your colossally shit covered behind, but also bending far enough down to where I was staring directly at your stretch mark covered tit sacks. The get-up Walmart provided you with was clearly too stretched out to be considered appropriate, and thanks to your unwanted display, I now have an image burned into my retinas that will surely haunt my dreams for years to come.

You trashy CUNT. What happened to the happy go lucky Walmart employees that wander around knocking down smiling prices all day? What happened to them!?! What happened to a certain level of competence to handle remedial duties being required from employees at any job? What the FUCK happened to that? Had you been wearing a name-tag I would have screamed for a manager and hopefully got your bitch-ass fired, but since you had not I was left standing there, helpless, with 60 dollars in my pocket and nothing to spend it on. I am completely positive at one time you DID have a name-tag, but over time somehow it got sucked into one of your enormous rolls, or you used your last snaggle tooth to sharpen and fashion it into some sort of shank, so you could mangle boxes filled with new crap needing to be put on shelves. Either way that is fucking disgusting.

I just want you to know, I got my copy of Underworld. I waited till you walked away and I searched the rack myself. There, right on top, lay a perfectly crisp and seemingly 'just vaccuum sealed' copy of the trilogy. You tried to stop me from leaving your section without paying at your little box you ruthless bitch, but I ignored your barking and walked straight to the register upfront. You can thank your ridiculous attitude for the fact that the fat hoe on the cigarette lane is now going to get her bonus. My sixty dollars is all she needed to push her quarterly sales over the edge. Thank yourself you worthless harlot.

I hope your nights are filled with loose, watery shit for years to come. I hope your sphincter loses all elasticity and you end up a walking, talking hemorrhoidal/defecation-stain forever. I hope your last tooth rots out of your fucking skull and you have nothing left to sharpen your shanks with. I hope you get fired you toothless wonder. I really do.

Lastly, but not least, go FUCK yourself.

With absolutely no love-

Jess

Office Women. Hate 'Em.

To the women who work in my office… I hate you

Girl with the bright blonde weave who works in reception- I don’t know how you got your job, you are so uneducated it makes me sick. Did you graduate grammar school? I think I would respect you more if the answer to that is no. I want to throw a rock at your face every time I walk by when you are answering the phone and you say something like ‘who you callin’ for?’ or ‘he in a meetin’ right now’ or my personal favorite, ‘who this is?’ I bet the people on the other end of the phone want to throw a rock at your face too. I also can’t stand when I get message notes from you that are written like so: Mr. Smith called hes wanting to kno wen he shuld ecspect the letter of aprovle. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? It amazes me that the only two things in your job description are answering phones and taking phone messages and you can’t do either of those things!

Tall girl in design with the short brown hair- You have horrendous body odor! I’m not talking a little stench here and there I am talking everyday when you walk into the building people drop dead. I don’t know how you don’t notice it. I’m going to buy you deodorant for Christmas.

Fat woman who works in suite 19- I don’t know exactly what you do for this company, but I know far too much about your personal life. When you talk to your boyfriend on company time, please refrain from telling him it felt so good when he slipped his hard dick into your fat ass! Yea I heard that, and so does everyone else that walks by your suite when you are on the phone. It’s disgusting, and we don’t want to hear about it, so keep your voice down.

Blonde woman who works for accounting- I know that you are 30, not 25 and I also know that at the Christmas party last year you had sex with the bosses son in the broom closet and that he got you pregnant. Please don’t insult me in front of our coworkers again or I will tell everyone.

Girl that works in sales- When you wear that brown skirt with the white flower on the bottom and you sit down, we can all see that you don’t wear panties.

Boss’ old receptionist- My name is not Rachel, Roberta, Carol, Kim or Kelli’ it’s Jessica.

Middle age woman who works in reception- Your job is not that hard. You answer phones, put people on hold, and take messages. I don’t care that you were up late cleaning the house or that you sat up all night waiting for you delinquent son to get home, that does not give you a reason to get rude with a customer or walk around bitching about how your job is so stressful. Half of us come in still drunk from the night before, but we never yell at clients, bitch about our family members or say our jobs are soooo hard.

Pregnant bitch- There is only one of you, so no need for further description but let it be known that you are not the first person to ever get knocked up! You are not the first person to get heart burn, you are not the first person to get morning sickness. You are not the first person to pee their pants because the baby put too much pressure on your bladder and you certainly are not the first person who has had strange cravings for cheese and anchovies. Stop complaining about it!

Little intern girl- You are so cute with your stringy brown hair, acne and braces but your coffee skills are lacking. All I ever want is a large black coffee but you seem to think that I would rather a low-fat Latte, or a Caramel Frappe, or even a Chai Tea. Nope I don’t want those, I just want a damn black coffee! Also, you obviously don’t know your alphabet because my filing cabinet is a mess. F does not come after R, sweetie. Do you want to flunk the class you are doing this internship for? No? You better shape your ass up and get me the right coffee then!

Pretty girl who is head of the writing department- You are the only girl who works in this office that I can stand. You greet me every morning with a bright smile and a cheery hello. And you are so damn smart. No wonder you are 22 and head of the department that could pretty much make or break our company. One time I asked you the Circumference of the earth and you knew it! Usually I would think that is weird and dorky but from you, I find it really nice. I also like that you are the only girl in the company that hasn’t slept with someone that works with us. But for the record, if you did, I wouldn’t respect you any less.

Hispanic girl who works in design- You wear way too much makeup, I hate that you draw your eyebrows on, and I’m pretty sure you have an adams apple and are a man.

35 year old secretary- You have a 20 year old son, and a 15 year old son… yet you dress like you are 16. I would be embarrassed to be your children. Oh and you look really stupid when you wear that plaid school-girl skirt with the white tights and hooker boots. This is an office… not a brothel.