Fuck you, Cricket.

Fuck you, Cricket Wireless upper echelon. You should be tarred, feathered, drawn, quartered and anally savaged with Guinness World Record-sized zucchini until you willingly and gratefully, with much weeping and begging involved, change your name to Crookit Wireless.

It definitely suits you better.

Your salesman sold me a pipe dream, and the smoke was blown straight up my hooha, and not in the hawt way.

I needed internet access and you saw my bandwidth-ignorant ass coming.

I allowed your salesman to convince me that by signing up for your largest "unlimited" access package available, I could "download 24hrs a day and never run out."

Yeah. Right. Crookit bastards.

When I called customer service to find out why it was taking 30min to load my much beloved FarmVille, I was informed that I had run out of bandwidth, by a Dunkin' Donuts-lilted, thickly accent-laden, barely understandable agent, professing to be named Brad.

By this time, I am totally sensing a theme of dishonesty.

Apparently, the largest "unlimited" package consists of 7.5meg of bandwidth, which only translates to "weyn hooondred and twwwaynty wayb-brrrrowsing hourrrrs, maay'ohm.", says the oh-so-smug Brad, as he litters the conversation, more than liberally, with the condescending "I oondooerstand yooour froostraysheun, maay'ohm.

NO.THE.FUCK.YOU.DON'T.STOP.SAYING.THAT.IT.MAKES.ME.WANT.TO.POP.YOUR.HEAD.LIKE.A.ZIT.
--------------------------------------------------------
me: "I purchased an unlimited package, Brad. How have I surpassed my limit on an unlimited package? Maybe we should drag out the trusty Webster's and clearly define 'unlimited'." 

Brad:  "eet ees unleemeeted, maay'ohm. you cahn still connect to deee eentorrrnet, yooour speed is just moouch slowvwer." 

me: "um, Brad, I can't load a page, I can't use MSN or Skype. what good is it to have the ability to connect to the internet if I CAN'T FRIGGIN LOAD A PAGE?" 

Brad:  "I oondooerstand yoour froostraysheun, maay'ohm." 

me: "No, Brad, you don't. If you did, you'd attempt to fix this mess or, at the very least, send me to someone who WILL."
-------------------------------------------------------
Brad, who may have been quite skilled at condescension, wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box and getting on my last nerve worse than the banjo kid from 'Deliverance'. I was completely uncunted, so I demanded the number for their corporate headquarters.

This exchange ended with him putting me on hold for 15min just so he could give me a corporate headquarters phone number that NO ONE EVER FUCKING ANSWERS.

As if this weren't enough, you're so testicle-less in your business practices, it seems only the Pentagon and CIA have access to your WEAL and TWUE top-secret, corporate headquarters, red, blinking, batphone number.

Oh, btw, as soon as the rebate check comes for this P.O.S. modem, I'm taking the loot and going with Comcast. They may be crooked fuckers with sketchy service, but at least they TRY to make their customers happy when they bitch loud and long enough.