Lost in tv hell. episode 5

     So I'm bored and looking for someone to mess with.  My brother says, 
"Let's call that Citibank VISA 800 number."  This seems pretty juvenile so we 
do it.  I tell them I was on vacation in West Philly and my wallet was stolen. 
The girl says, "I'm sorry, but you don't have an account with us."  
     I say, "I know I don't, but the girl on the commercial was so helpful and 
cheery that I just--"
     She says, "You watch too much T.V., asswipe," and hangs up.

     So I've got this little scam going where I float one bad check after 
another and then back them up with this stolen VISA card I found in West 
Philly.  Only, the card is almost maxed out because I've already bounced about 
five grand worth of these checks.  So I call Citibank VISA and I say:
     "Listen, my mom really needs this here kidney. . ."
     "Say no more, Mr. Goode, I'll raise your credit limit to ten thousand 
dollars."
     "But that won't cover the bone marrow for my boy,"  I say, slowly 
beginning to sob.
     She says, "My sister had leukemia. . ." starting to sob also.  Now I knew 
I had her.
     I mumble something through my tears and say, ". . .watching your own flesh
and blood waste away like that. . ."
     She says, "It won't let me raise it past ten thousand."
     Luckily, I just happen to have some familiarity with these types of 
systems.
     I say, "Do you know you boss's password?"
     She says, "Yes, but why--"
     "Please, just log in as your boss and bring up my account."
     She does, and I say, "Now, is there somewhere on the screen that it 
mentions the word 'Gold'?"
     She says, "Yes, right here in the corner, it says 'Status', and underneath
it says 'Gold', 'Platinum', and 'Corporate'.  And each one has a little box 
next to it."
     "Okay, move down there and hit return in the boxes that say 'Platinum' and
'Corporate.'
     She does and I say, "Now move up to the credit limit part and type in all 
9's."
     "Okay.  My boss will be back soon.  I hope your boy gets better.  And 
thank you for using VISA."
     I say, "Not just any VISA."
     "Citibank VISA."
     "Bingo.

     So my brother and I are in line at a MAC machine, and we're stuck behind 
one of these guys that is pressing every single button.  I mean, I think this 
guy is Donald Trump, and he's doing a hostile takeover by ATM.  
     We're getting pretty pissed, so my brother starts shaking and says, "Jeez,
I just wanted to get my insulin money.  You got maybe a candy bar or 
something?"  The guy, who incidentally is munching on a Snicker's bar, 
continues his asinine takeover attempt, so my brother starts mumbling, 
"...blood sugar. . .bottoming out. .
.think I'll lay down for a while."  So this speeds the guy right  yup, who 
apparently was doing some creative debt re-financing to rebuild his crumbling 
empire.  He throws his Snicker's wrapper on the ground and my brother dives on 
it, furiously licking the inside clean.  
     Before Donnie leaves I say, "I just hope you aren't planning on breaking 
that company up and selling off the assets."
     And he says, "Why the Hell not?  Scott Paper is extremely diversified, and
floating in cash at the moment."
     I just laugh, hinting at some hidden knowledge of the company, none of 
which I have.
     "All right, spit it out, what are you saying?  There's a lot of money on 
the line here."
     Seeing that my  the doofus has left his MAC card in the machine, I try to 
get him to leave. "Of course," I say,  "you must be right.  By the way, I used 
to fuck Marla Maples in high school.  She ever get rid of that nasty case of--"
     "All right, I've heard just about enough." he says, and storms away.
     My brother's already at the MAC console, refinancing Donnie's empire 
through a series of short-term high-interest loans, underwritten by the Sony 
and Matsushita corporations.  He looks back at me over his shoulder and says, 
"The public outrage over all that money going to Japan should take care of this
whole Trump thing, once and for all."
     I lean over, hit a few buttons, and all of a sudden the entire deal hinges
on the price of silver going to some six thousand dollars an ounce.
     And my brother says, "Hey, you got any of those bad checks on you?"
     Of course I did, so we deposited a few into Donnie's account, along with a
Polaroid picture my brother had featuring a troup of Cub Scouts, a young Hindu 
boy, a six-pack of jolt and a garden weasel.
     I looked at the picture and shook my head.  "Man, they've reaaly upped the
requirements for a Merit badge. Think these kids'll make Eagle Scout?"
     "Oh yeah, spread Ea--"
     "That's enough.  Where'd you get this picture anyway?"
     "Found it."
     "Oh. OK"  Best not to know, I figured.  
     So we left, but not before we invested some more of Donnie's money into 
some creaky corporate paper and snapper soup futures.  Then, we withdrew some 
cash and headed into town.

     If only he'd given up that Snicker's bar.