(sorry, no sex. despite the title)
There’s a customer who’s my nemesis. He’s a like a projection from my mind of every annoying customer trait rolled up into a mini-golem with an unblinking, impassive cow like demeanor. And he has impeccable timing, I won’t see him for weeks and just when I’m having a particularly rotten day he appears:
-You got Rob Domas?
+Do you mean Rob THOMAS,the guy from…uh…Match…Book…something…20 Matchbook 20?
-Rob Domas
+Thomas with a T or Domas with a D?
+Yes what? …T or D?
[I looked it up, of course no Rob Domas]
+Well, there’s nobody named Rob Domas
-Is it under D?
+No….There’s is no Rob Domas…at least none making music…it doesn’t exist…nothing…Rob THOMAS however has some cd’s …and we file him with Matchbook…Matchbox…Aughhh…Matchfuck..Fuckers…aaaugh.
-….You got that?
+[now completely defeated]…yes.

singer for Matchfuck Fuckers

    • spank
    • August 9th, 2012

    How the hell you be workin’ in a music store and never heard of Rob Domas ?? This guys a world class maraca player, and has three Grammy winning solo albums to his credit (as far as I’m concerned, they all seem to sound the same …. every songs goes chicka, chicka, chicka) ….. anyway, the guy can’t even walk down the streets of South America without getting his shirt ripped off by adoring female fans, and the occasional limp-wristed male fans (they’re limp-wristed cause they are maraca pros, and usually they sit on roof tops just waiting to give the international “hey, jerk-off” sign to unsuspecting back streching morons walking below).

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