When you get a statement from the insurance company that says… This is NOT a bill.
Then don’t freaking send it, you inconsiderate serial tree killing muthersucker.
Store that cumbersome pain-in-my-ass information online where I can retrieve it when and if I need it, which I definitely won’t.
It only dilutes the rest of the important stuff in my mailbox that needs immediate attention… like bills and shit.
Sometimes (or most of the time) those guys don’t get paid until they send me a love note in RED ink.
Red gets my attention, that’s why.
I love red. In fact, my favorite shoes are red clogs from Born. They are one of my most prized possessions and I totally plan on being buried in those rock star shoes.
A word to those loser archaic corporations that don’t offer auto pay… catch me if you can.
Ain’t nobody got time to leaf through a zillion pieces of mail.
Plus, they’re killing perfectly innocent trees for no reason other than to aggravate consumers and tax my last nerve.
Not only do I love trees and all plant matter, I happen to be a serious monkey enthusiast and guess where monkey’s live?
In TREES… that don’t deserve to DIE for the sole purpose of being resurrected as a piece of bullshit mail that clearly belongs in cyber space.
Blue Cross can kiss my ass. They just stole 20 minutes of my life that I’ll never get back, not to mention wasting tax payers hard earned money sending murdered trees through the mail.
They shouldn’t be surprised when a bus load of shit-flinging monkey’s show up at their home office acting like Gremlins on crack who just went pool hopping and ate a large pepperoni pizza after midnight.
That’s called Karma or at least an Extreme Mom tale on why insurance companies SUCK.