If I have treated you so well, dear Bresnan, then why do you insist on being such a bitch to me? Why must you taunt me with constantly jumbled channels? It is frankly tragic when I sit down to watch the epic stylings of "Project Runway" only to find it is a mess of jumbled lines and garbled german accents. Auf Wiedersehen. You make me miss my favorite shows. Not cool, Bresnan. I have a heavy work schedule and as such I do not take kindly to interruptions to my fleeting moments of couch potatoness. Heaven help me if I miss one more episode of Anthony Bourdain.
Then there is the internet, Bresnan. You taunt me shamelessly with your internet. My laptop says, "Hey look, I have full bars!" Yet you, Bresnan, never load. You act like you're trying, but we all know that's a ruse. Of course you're not really working, that would be effective. So I reset you. I tickle your little boxes and handle your little cords and for a moment you're happy, but your happiness is oh so fleeting. You might be needy with your constant resetting, but I have needs too Bresnan. Needs that require the internet. I have Facebook to check, celebrities to stock, online bills to pay and a blog in terrible need of updating. Yes, Bresnan, I have people on the internet waiting to read about my epic Hooters adventures. You deny me, Bresnan, and you deny them. Shame, shame on you.
Just so you know I called your parents. They said my call was being recorded for training purposes. That's right, Bresnan, your big, scary parents have a record of my call and let me tell you, it wasn't a happy discussion. I'll have you know they're giving me a month free. It's probably coming out of your allowance, Bresnan. You better shape up.