This Week In F—k You: Radio Shack

07.06.10 7 years ago 94 Comments

We’re in the dreaded post-draft portion of the endless NFL offseason. There’s still no real football for weeks and weeks. You’re hurt. You’re angry. You’re hateful. We understand. At KSK, hating things is what we do best, which is why we have the offseason series This Week In Eff You to help you cope. This week, it’s Radio Shack.

I broke my headphones the other day and had to get a new pair. Normally, I’d order new ones online like any rational person, but I didn’t want to wait a couple days to have them shipped and risk working out at the gym without any headphones. That would leave me at the mercy of the gym’s house music, and if I hear The Ataris cover “The Boys of Summer” one more fucking time, I will choke a bitch.

There’s a Radio Shack one block away from my gym. I have no clue how Radio Shack still exists. It shouldn’t. It should have been wiped off the face of the Earth fucking ages ago. Even the name itself – Radio Shack – makes you think the store is a tin shanty housing old HAM radio equipment, and that isn’t far from the truth.

I have gone into this Radio Shack a couple of times, and it has never ceased to be fucking AGONY. There is no one in that store. Ever. How the fuck does the thing survive? They must sell bathtub meth in the back. That can be the only explanation, because no one would ever willingly set foot into one of these shitholes to browse their putrid selection of shitty phones and old Tandy computers. Everything they sell is horrible.

Anyway, I walk in to buy these headphones. I find them, and thus begin my interaction with the mouthbreather behind the counter. Radio Shack employs, hands down, the scummiest group of human beings ever to grace a retail outlet. These people are the fucking ass foam of humanity. Imagine a car dealer. Now imagine a car dealer too incompetent to even be allowed to be a fucking car dealer. PRESTO. You got yourself a shithead from Radio Shack.

So I set my headphones down on the counter.

GUY: Actually, I don’t recommend these headphones.

ME: I don’t care.

And I don’t. If I wanted your opinion, fucktaster, I would have asked for it. I’ve been to Radio Shack enough times now to know how these people operate. Mr. Tech Sommelier over there doesn’t recommend the headphones I put down because they’re affordable. He much prefers the ones that are double the price. EAT SHIT.

ME: I’ll just take these.

GUY: Okay, well I’m gonna go ahead and give you our protection plan for that…

No. No, you won’t. ASSHOLE. I don’t want your fucking protection plan. Protection plans are the TrueCoat of dipshit electronic sales. And this asshole didn’t even bother to mention that protection plan costs extra, which I already knew beforehand.

There is a special place in hell reserved for people who try and upsell you on something without telling you about any additional costs. These people deserve to have their assholes pulled out and set on fire. I hate them. I fucking hate their faces and I hope they get run over by a van. One time, I went to a shitty dentist who suggested I take nitrous instead of Novacaine for a certain procedure. And I thought, OH YEAH! I’ll get high! Let’s do it! And then, right before they were about to give me the mask, I had a sudden realization.

ME: Wait, does my insurance cover this?

DENTIST: Well, no. I mean, you can make a clai…

FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU. You fucking piece of slime. You tried to swindle me into buying shit my insurance wouldn’t cover. I hate you. I hate you, and I hate Radio Shack guy, and I hate that dipshit Verizon guy who tries to convince me to switch to Fios every week and tells me it’s $10 a month or something without EVER telling me that price is for, like, three months only. All of you: DIE. I would bury you alive in a pile of shit if it were legal, AND IT SHOULD BE.

Anyway, back to Radio Shack fuckface telling me about his oh-so-awesome protection plan.

ME: I don’t want that.

GUY: Why not?

Why not? Because EAT SHIT, that’s why. I don’t owe you a goddamn explanation. I’m the customer. Don’t fucking question me. I don’t want your protection pan because it’s crap and you and your creepy long fingernails will just have to sit there and TAKE IT IN THE ASS.

Radio Shack is ass. It’s a remnant of some forgotten, horrible time when people needed a store that had big wooden speakers and Casio keyboards and shitty dancing robots. Those days are long gone. You and your sorry Howie Long ass will go bankrupt soon, and when that happens, every scumbag working in your rundown stores will never find another job AGAIN. They’ll become homeless, and steal purses for drug money, and die hopeless and alone in the gutter. And I will be there with a camera to record their deaths, so I can take that video home and watch it and jack off to it. Because Radio Shack blows.

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