Some of you may like my latest offering for Image — an homage, if you will, to those noble members of the political, legal, financial, and insurance professions to whom I sometimes refer in the collective as “that bunch of bastards.”
Here’s an excerpt:
“Loggers are dispatched to the Pacific Northwest to fell a tree. The tree is chopped and ground and pressed into paper, so the aforementioned offices can hurl mail at every address I may have visited over the past decade. I begin to get bills that must be paid immediately or babies will be thrown from windows.
Meanwhile, part of that tree goes to minions of my insurance company, so they can send me indecipherable forms purporting to explain why they cannot possibly be expected to approve the outrageously high bill my bamboozling flimflam dentist had the temerity to submit.
They include rows of numerical codes in their explanation of non-benefits. This was a code 22798, you see, with just a splash of 87453. Obviously, we cannot be expected to cover it. You owe your dentist one million dollars and eighty-seven cents. This is not a bill.“
You can read the rest here.