sts 123


2 Weeks Left To Preorder “Into The Unknown”

Now taking preorders for this Over the Garden Wall™ limited edition collectible until December 4th. To get your name on the preorder list, please email me at:

  • The price is expected to be around $195 plus sales tax and shipping.
  • A minimum of 100 orders will be needed In order to meet this price. If the minimum is not reached, it’s still possible that they will be made, but the price will increase significantly, so please tell everyone you know who may be interested. Re-blogs, retweets, etc. are also much appreciated!
  • Please include: your name, mailing address and email as shown:

Your Name

123 Your St. 

Your Town, CA 45678

  • There is no obligation to purchase until the manufacturing order is placed after December 4th, but please only preorder if you intend to buy, thanks.
  • More details to follow.

Thanks to everyone who has expressed their interest so far! Please feel free to email me at with any questions.

((Information is changed for confidentiality)) This is no word of a lie. This actually happened.
  • Me: What's your first and last name?
  • Customer: John Smith
  • Me: And your zip code?
  • Customer: Smith.
  • Me: Your zip code please?
  • Customer: S-M-I-T-H.
  • Me: No sir, your ZIP Code
  • Customer: John.
  • Me: (mutes customer) Are we having the same conversation?
  • Me: (unmutes customer) No sir, what is your ZIP CODE?
  • Customer: What's that?
  • Me: The zip code for your address.
  • Customer: 123 Easy St., Houston Texas.
  • Me: ..... I'm sorry sir I need your Zip Code.
  • Customer: My member ID number?
  • Me: No sir ... I need you to confirm your zip code ...
  • Customer: I don't know what that is.
  • Me: ZIP CODE ((trying to pronounce it clearer))
  • Customer: IP Code?
  • Me: No sir your zip code.
  • Customer: Spell it for me.
  • Me: Z-I-P Code
  • Customer: Cip code?
  • Me: No sir, z as in zebra.
  • Customer: Sip code?
  • Me: Yes sir, your zip code.
  • Customer: S as in sam?
  • Me: No sir Z as in Zebra.
  • Customer: I still don't know what that is. Look I want to cancel.
  • Me: I'm sorry sir I need to locate your account. I need your zip code.
  • Customer: OH MY ZIP CODE?!
  • Me: ..... Yes sir.
  • Customer: Z as in Zoo right? ZIP?
  • Me: ......... Yes sir .....
  • Customer: 302
  • Me: ....... I'm sorry what was that?
  • Customer: 302
  • Me: No not your area code, your zip code.
  • Customer: 302 is my zip code.
  • Me: That's too short to be a zip code sir, it's a 5 digit number.
  • Customer: Oh, I don't know what that is. Why can't you just cancel my account?
  • Me: Because there are 24 John Smith's in my system here, 14 of which are active, I need to know which one is you.
  • Customer: Well what do you need then?
  • Me: Your zip code please?
  • Customer: Hold on, talk to my wife.
  • Customer's Wife: Hello.
  • Me: Hello ma'am, can I get your zip code please.
  • Customer's wife: What's that?
  • Me: (mutes customer) God here we go again.
  • Me: (unmutes customer) The zip code for your address.
  • Customer's wife: 123 Easy St., Houston Texas.
  • Me: And the zip code?!
  • Customer's wife: 302
  • Me: No no, the zip code.
  • Customer's wife: He already told you this information. The zip code is 302.
  • Me: ..... Okay ma'am, Do you have a piece of mail or something that has your address on it?
  • Customer's wife: Yes, ma'am.
  • Me: Okay So your address is 123 Easy St., Houston Texas.
  • Customer's wife: Yes ma'am.
  • Me: What's the 5 digits under that?
  • Customer's wife: On what?
  • Me: Under your address.
  • Customer's wife: My address isn't on here.
  • Me: Can you get a piece of mail that has your address on it?
  • Customer's wife: Yeah hold on. ((puts me on hold for 6 minutes))
  • Customer's wife: ((Comes back)) Okay I got it.
  • Me: Okay so you're looking at your address on the letter.
  • Customer's wife: Yes ma'am.
  • Me: Okay what's the 5 digit number under your address.
  • Customer's wife: 75468
  • Me: Thank you!
Creepypasta #1216: Customer Service

Length: Short

I have two post-it notes to add to the bowl tonight. One green and one yellow. It’s still been months since I have pulled a red note.

The green one says, “John O / 123 West st / called me useless / argued store hours." 

I fold it in half and place him on top of the pile of folded notes. Essentially, he gave me the dogshit treatment. When his note comes up, I will return the favor by leaving dogshit in his car door handles. Maybe some extra smeared under the windshield wipers and into the intake vents. That lovely fragrance of dog excrement will inundate the car for weeks.

Green notes are easy. They keep me alive. Most of my notes in this bowl are green. Sometimes I will scratch "CUNT” or “BITCH” into a car door. Maybe I’ll be creative and spray paint giant, veiny ejaculating dicks on the garage door. Lately, I have been using my dog’s droppings in newspapers, mail slots and other unpleasant places.

It never ceases to amaze me how many people treat customer facing employees like complete garbage. As if they are somehow better than us common peasants because they never had to do real work for a living.

The yellow note says, “Tiffany M / 234 Elm St / cut in line / no receipt wanted cash back / called me idiot / demanded manager.” I fold it in half and place her on the pile.

Yellow notes are special. Those are the people that went out of their way to piss me off. I look at the note and ponder what will cross my mind the night I pull it back out. Perhaps I will cut their brake line. Maybe I will spray some gasoline on their lawn spelling out, “ASSHOLE” and light it up. Then again, I could always leave a macabre display of dead animals on their porch. The possibilities are endless.

I dive my left hand into the bowl and swish the notes around. I look up at the ceiling to keep from cheating.

At this point I always wonder how stupid these people are. Don’t they know that when I service them, I have access to their names, their phone numbers, their addresses? Do they ever think for one second who the person is that they are dealing with? Don’t they know this is one of the few jobs people like me can get these days?

I grab a note at random and pull it out. I look down and see a red note in my hand. It’s one of three red notes left in the bowl. I flip it open and see the name “Mary A / 345 maple”. I don’t need a reminder note on the red ones.

Mary was a fraud. Mary demanded free products because the packaging was damaged; packaging that was just fine when I packed it out on the shelf not 45 minutes prior. Mary insisted on talking to the supervisor. Mary complained to corporate when we wouldn’t give her free stuff. Mary named me in particular when she wrote a nasty email to our corporate hotline. Mary cost me a job position I applied for, because corporate did not like such an awful customer escalation attached to one of their applicants. Mary was given a gift credit from the district manager and a typed apology from my supervisor as well as myself.

I put the red note in my mouth and chew it until it is a pulpy mess. I swallow Mary’s note and make my way to the closet. Not the refrigerator filled with bags of my dog’s shit. Not my toolkit with the awl, hammer and wire cutters. I go to the closet which holds my suitcase. I unzip the suitcase and chose the meat cleaver and a paring knife. For backup, I grab my .22 and the taser.

I have been waiting to pull Mary’s note for a long time. I have needed a night like this for a while. Long and messy. I close the store for tomorrow so I have plenty of time to speak with Mary tonight.

I always sleep like a baby when I complete a red note.

All becomes right in the world.

Credits to: bherb76 (story)

Domestic Abuse victim pretend to call Pizza Restaurant

“911, where is you emergency?”

“123 Main St.”

“Ok, what’s going on there?”

“I’d like to order a pizza for delivery.” (oh great, another prank call he thought).

“Ma’am, you’ve reached 911”

“Yeah, I know. Can I have a large with half pepperoni, half mushroom and peppers?”

“Ummm…. I’m sorry, you know you’ve called 911 right?”

“Yeah, do you know how long it will be?”

“Ok, Ma’am, is everything ok over there? do you have an emergency?”

“Yes, I do.”

“..And you can’t talk about it because there’s someone in the room with you?” (moment of realization)

“Yes, that’s correct. Do you know how long it will be?”

“I have an officer about a mile from your location. Are there any weapons in your house?”


“Can you stay on the phone with me?”

“Nope. See you soon, thanks”

As we dispatch the call, I check the history at the address, and see there are multiple previous domestic violence calls. The officer arrives and finds a couple, female was kind of banged up, and boyfriend was drunk. Officer arrests him after she explains that the boyfriend had been beating her for a while. I thought she was pretty clever to use that trick. Definitely one of the most memorable calls.”

Against a black sky, the Space Shuttle Endeavour and its seven-member STS-123 crew head toward Earth-orbit and a scheduled link-up with the International Space Station (ISS). Liftoff was on time at 2:28 a.m. (EDT). Onboard are NASA astronauts Dominic Gorie, commander; Gregory H. Johnson, pilot; Robert L. Behnken, Mike Foreman, Rick Linnehan, Garrett Reisman and Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency (JAXA) astronaut Takao Doi, all mission specialists. The crew will make a record-breaking 16-day mission to the International Space Station and deliver the first section of the Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency’s Kibo laboratory and the Canadian Space Agency’s two-armed robotic system, Dextre. Reisman will join Expedition 16 in progress to serve as a flight engineer aboard the ISS.

Million dollar manufactured housing

Many, many moons ago I worked customer service for a phone company. It was a soul-sucking job to begin with, but our hands were mostly tied because of strict QA policies/monitoring/etc, so you just had to suck it up most of the time.

One day I get a call from some lady who had recently switched to us, and was furious that on her first bill, her address was listed as  123 Whatever St, Unit #6.

She proceeds to inform me that this was a $2m condo in [Diamond Bay Cove, Richfuckland], and was not a “unit”. She then goes on to say how stupid we must be, we’re lucky to have her business, she’s ready to switch back after this “horrific grievance”, etc.

I’m obsequious and placating the whole time, taking another 6mo off my life, as she ranted for 10 minutes. I assured her we appreciate her business and will get that fixed immediately.

I changed her billing address to 123 Whatever St, TRAILER (left allcaps) #6.

I never heard anything more about it, but I can only imagine she had an aneurysm seeing that next bill.  

Please Donate If Possible

I put a donation button on my description now.

I would appreciate some donations because I’m probably going to move to an empty house with nothing in it soon and I don’t have a lot necessary things, even in the house I’m going to move from.

I mainly need to have (not the only things):

 1) a fridge

 2) a back up generator (this is a country with daily power outages, no exaggeration) 

3) a permanent stove

Link to my blog(donate button is in description)

My paypal is


edit: new post

Space Shuttle Endeavour and its 7 member STS-123 crew head toward a scheduled link-up with the ISS on March 11, 2008. The crew was delivering the first section of the Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency’s Kibo laboratory and the Canadian Space Agency’s two-armed robotic system, Dextre.

by NASA on The Commons

imagine living on 123 Fake St. nobody would ever believe you when you told them your address. nobody would visit. the loneliness would crush your soul