Poetry From The Cud:
Core Values
Andrew Coorey

 

The apple store types are their own unique species
Convinced they produce only odourless faeces
With post-Wiggle skivvies not even ironic
Their kool-aid consumption is borderline chronic
They don’t have a help desk, the usual par
Just the modestly self titled genius bar
So who is the genius if I can be bold…
The fuckknuckle phone jock who put me on hold?
Or the chick on the help line from the USA?
Who just asked me how she could help me today
“ I was on to the Bondi store moments ago
And now it is you in the Atlantic snow
Trying to help me to locate my proximate store
I can tell you right now love, I’ve been there before
But they transferred my call from the Oxford Street shop
To shitsville in Arkansas, that I can’t cop.
As the crow flies its 800 metres away
Half a mile in your language but what would you say
If I said that your service is totally flawed
Cause I know that my protests will all be ignored”

So there’s some prick in some place, he thinks it makes sense
To make me frustrated and cranky and tense
Who somehow has worked up the  quite silly notion
To transfer my call cross the Pacific ocean
I do have to say to that same braindead mother!
Just shift the call one side of shop to the other
And don’t make me spell out in babytalk mode
Why I cannot provide you with any zip code
And why store location is not tough at all
Could have walked there by now in the length of this call
You make very nice gadgets , you’ve got us all hooked
So we can’t wait all day til repair man is booked
My iphone has made my attention span short
And the same goes with all of the gadgets I bought
So I’m shouting to you via the satellite
And you’re telling me that I will have to sit tight
I’m not gonna wait and, I cannot relax
And I’ll starting taking orders when you pricks pay tax


 

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