Hello, Mr. Styles?

At 7:00 this morning a credit card company called me to see if I found work yet. While trying to tell the cubical bound harpie to try back later so I could return to sleep she suddenly turned nasty. "Well, you did sign a contract, you do know what a contract is don't you?" Ok, bitch. "The contract that I SIGNED seven years ago was for 4.9% interest, NOT 32.9% interest." That little comment you just made moved your company down to the very bottom of my 'People to pay' list.

I love how they try to threaten me with a poor credit score. It's like the assistant principle back in High School threatening me with "This will go on your permanent record." In the past thirty years since High School not once has that record ever come back to haunt me. In fact, looking back I wish I had raised more hell in school. Don't give me any more credit, keep it. I've had to sleep in my car and have gone days without coffee, smokes or food. Do you think I really give a rat's ass about little things like credit ratings?

I've never seen a credit score on a tombstone.