Five Sweet-Ass Dollars

I got an envelope in the mail from the Nielsen Co. yesterday. They're the people who tell the TV people what you're watching, and how much they should charge the advertising people to sell you their go-faster-stripes gadgets while you do so. Incidentally, despite their Nordic-sounding name, did you know that the Nielsen Co. is headed by a Latino man? It's true! Take that, scurrilous claims of a Judaism-controlled entertainment industry!

Anyway, inside this envelope was a survey about my TV-watching habits, which was ironic because now is the only moment in my life where I have not actually had a television signal in my home. Along with the survey was a brief form letter telling me that I was receiving a mail-in survey because my "neighborhood or municipality" frowned upon door-to-door solicitation. Which does explain why I have had precious few people ringing my doorbell asking me to politically activate myself or help some disabled person yadda yadda. I mean, come on, I've got a pizza to microwave, you know?

So I have this survey and this letter (signed by the aforementioned big Latino honcho), and yeah whatever let's just throw this in the trash whoa wait a minute what's this but FIVE SWEET-ASS DOLLARS.

"A token of our appreciation," spake the letter. Hell fuckin' yes it is. I'm being bribed by the Neilsen company to the tune of five sweet-ass dollars. Not just some rolled up Abe Lincoln, neither. We're talking five piping-hot, straight-off-the presses, crisp-as-a-teenager's-underwear dollar bills. These motherfuckers went all out to get me to tell them I watch no TV. I believe the phrase is, "boo-ya."

But I'm no fool. I don't work for cash, man. I work for me. And me? I don't want to fill out some dumb TV survey. So it looks like I just fleeced the Nielsen Co. to the tune of Five Sweet-Ass Dollars. I didn't get all public university educated for nuthin'. I still might send it back, though (pre-paid postage, bitches!). But instead of filling in bubbles with a No. 2 pencil, I'll just bust out a black Sharpie and scrawl something arbitrarily aggressive across the face of the survey, like "I Fucked Your Mother" or "CUNTS!!" Because that's how this cat rolls with Five Sweet-Ass Dollars burning a hole in his pocket. I answer to No Man, Nielsen, and don't you forget it.