I will say that the people at Wachovia have done a much better job of keeping a supply of deposit envelopes on hand as of late, most likely due to my hectoring. However, another problem has surfaced that, as a vigilant and top customer, I would be negligent for not pointing out.
My question is, Wachovia. Can't a guy get privacy at the ATM? Why do your new ATMs have to beep so loudly and for so long and for any reason? Do we really need the damn thing to beep for 15 seconds just so we make sure to get the receipt? Might as well make a recording that says, "Attention, predators. Someone's at the ATM pulling out cash!"
Stop serving your customers up on a platter. Quite frankly, I think most ATMs are designed with little regard for the needs of people who don't want get their heads caved in by rap desperadoes. The convenience of the crook seems paramount. Why does every ATM put the user's business and back facing society? At least put in some eye-level mirrors so we have a chance, or furnish a holster to put my gun in when I use the walkup ATM. No, I haven't had any incidents, but that's the point. I don't know or give a shit if it's legal, but I'm not sacrificing my money or my life for some power mad social engineer's idea of utopia.
NFL Referees watching a replay on the sidelines have better security. Fix it.
Here's why Hillary Clinton will not become president.
She's ugly. Good night! She could promise to repeal the income tax tomorrow and still wouldn't cut it. She's just not attractive. There's no way around it.
Margeret Thatcher was ugly too, but people in England thought she was a male or at the very least, Alistair Cooke, which lent a regal credibility to her. Hillary Jefferson Cunton reminds everyone of the unselected leisure-suited witch in their life, be it recovering alcoholic lesbian spinster aunt or poodle haired real estate agent. She is easily the worst representative of the word female one could credibly put in front of the voting public. Her penis envy shows on her puffy, weary, Soviet face in every single picture. When she smiles, it can never mask the companionship of the wide eyes of surprise, the tell-tale sign of an enraged person who must over-emote to hide the smoldering within.
Might as well have Rosie O'Donnell run for president for all the success you'll have. At least then we could all delight in the day she walks out on the campaign trail and her poor legs just snap under the duress of years of all that angry weight bearing down on them. I had a dream about this once, and I'd like to see it validated.
Sure, there are other reasons that invalidate this dumpy, water-logged totalitarian's grab for power.
She's a she. The American public does not want a leader who is prone to emotional outbursts and fits of irrationality.
Her "husband." Lubricated Willie will not be able to, and likely already has failed to, keep his sexual organs out of the clutches of young tartlets until 2009. If you think for a second that operatives out there don't already have post-Lewinsky drama ready to unleash on the voters in the upcoming grab for power, you do not understand our planet and it's culture.
Her voice. A public already weary of George Bush's fumbledumble way of speaking will not put up with a shrill woman who says "Ya know" more times than your average NBA center.
But ugly is really all you need to score this one.