Trevor McKee

Fuck you Media Play. I hate you.

I hate your shiney, smilely bubbly sales girls who pretend to care if you "need help finding anything".

I hate your giant 9X9 video wall that shows up in 9 different tones, I feel like I'm watching a fucking disco floor.

I hate your 38 different brands of CDRs in my face and the really cheap ones are always hidden.

I hate your dumbass novilty T-shirts of bands that were popular 6 years ago.

I hate the guitars in a box you trick ignorant grandparents into buying for their grandkids.

I hate how if I have to go to the bath room I have to set my desired purchases on a table outside...and when I come back they're gone, because one of your bubbly girls assumed someone had left them there and moved them.

I hate your giant stupid fucking gumball machine by the exit door. Those fucking jawbreakers have been around for a century and people still buy them even though they know they don't like them.

I hate your books. 83 million copies of Harry Potter and the Rock's autobiography, but only one copy of any work by shakespere...and it's fucking Othello or something.

I hate the pervs that hang around the playboy and anime' videos for fucking 4 hours. You're fat enough buddy, beleive me, you've seen tits before...every day in the mirror.

I hate your so-called "techno-dance" section. A thousand damn CDs and they're all groups and DJ's that were popular to candy-ravers in 95. They're not buying those CDs anymore, trust me; any brain-cells they had were shot by 97. Now they live in a shitty run down apartment with piss stains on the carpet while their kids they didn't want crawl around the floor dodging the overturned vodka bottles. Everytime they hear anything remotely like electronic music now they spring up and yell "I love techno! I used to go to RAVES!"

Fuck you, fuck your fucking replay card. You ask me every goddamn time if I want to sign up, and every fucking time I say no. Don't fucking act like it saves me money, if it didn't help you get the money out of my pocket and into your cash registers, you wouldn't offer it. The next girl that asks me if I want to sign up for a replay card I'm going to tell her yes. Then I'm going to take the card, break it in half, slit her throat with it, then slit my own. Yes, I am willing to take my own life and the lives of others out of spite towards psudo-customer savings and rewards.

Fuck your special orders. Twice I've fallen for putting a down payment on a CD and it never came in. Of course I didn't keep the slip that proves I paid the 5 bucks so I can get it back. This brings me to the reason I hate you the most: I hate the fucking double CD pack that I ordered, took home and opened up, only to discover that one of the discs was broken in half. I was extremely tempted to take the shattered disc and start slittin' throats. Now I have to wait another goddamn week for a CD you should have stocked to begin with. I hate you media play. With every ounce of my being, I hate you. May Walmart put you out of business.