Minor Irritations

I'm liking my blonde highlights and I think my hair has grown out to a pretty sexy length. If I could just get it to look thicker, I could forego the hair transplant and cut my imaginary plastic surgery budget to about $200,000.

Coversation with someone at the tax department research center:

Moron: Tax Reasearch

Zelda: Hi. I'm having a little problem regarding my HOA and my fence. I need to know exactly where my property line is.

Moron: We don't have that information here. They'll probably tell you that you need to get another survey done.

Zelda: Who are "they?"

Moron: I don't have the information.

Zelda: But you just told me "they" would probably tell me that I'd need to get a survey. Who are "they"?

Moron: You are calling the wrong office. We don't deal with property lines or numbers here.

Zelda: I'm not asking you to give me the specific information that I need, I'm just asking you where I could find the specific information that I need. You said "they." Who are "they?"

Moron: Let me explain, you are calling a department that only collects taxes. Trying to find out from me where your property line is, is like calling Burger King to ask what kind of hamburgers they have at MacDonald's. Do you have a question about fees?

Zelda: Yes. I have a question as to the exact property upon which I am actually paying taxes.

Moron: I don't have that information.

Zelda: Look. It is obvious that my excessive tax dollars are somehow insufficient to hire someone with a brain for your position. I won't take up any more of my valuable time.

Moron: Whatever.

Zelda: Prick

Moron: *Click*