A Funny Story About Citibank

Today was the mother lode. I am still shaking. I am still smiling. I am covered in the glorious blood of revenge. It is sweet. Literally. Blood tastes sweet. It is a taste one can get rather used to. From head to toe. It is inside of me. it is underneath my nails. Smeared on my eyeballs even. it is all over me. I am in the dark of a sewer several miles outside of and underneath the city. I will rest for a while. It is night time now.

There was a time I remember, many years ago, when I was young and broke and struggling... I had noticed a strange charge on one of my credit cards. A finance charge of $35, and then a few lines below it, another charge for $275. I called the company. The man on the other end of the line explained to me like the good lifeless soulless puppet he was trained to be that that was an additional finance charge that they were charging me from now on. Evidently the bill had been paid late during the summer and now my APR had risen to an astonishing 28%. I laughed. I thought he was joking. He didn't laugh. He was used to this. this is what he did for eight hours a day everyday of his pathetic life. He spoke with men. And he spoke with women. And he spoke to single guys and he spoke to mothers of three. And his job was to explain to these people that there was nothing he could do, and that “a machine” had actually made the decision automatically. “We don't make these decisions ourselves sir. No one made the decision. Its just that when accounts go past due like that a machine automatically will adjust your rate accordingly.” “Well, you just yanked my rate from 6% to 28%. That's a pretty big deal for a machine to make don't you think.” He didn't answer.

“well I can see you doing this to single guys, I mean not really, but doing this to single guys just to make more money that's one thing, after all this is capitalist America, but you don't really do this to people with families do you?” “We do it to everyone sir,” he answered in monotone. “We don't actually do it. a machine does it.” “So someone has told you to just tell people that a machine does this and that is supposed to make us feel better and make you all feel better for doing this to people?” He didn't answer me. “What is your name by the way?” I asked. “We don't give out our names sir. My extension is 8126.” “SO you don't even give out your names. I can understand why... let me ask you then 8126, how the hell can you work there? i mean, if someone is having a tough time paying their bills and they start paying late, its probably because they are having financial problems right?” “How can I help you sir?” he asked me without answering my question. “Well just answer my question 8126. Isn't that the reason why people pay their bills late?” “Sir I think people pay their bills late for any number of reasons. That is not our concern....” “But I would disagree with you. I would think it is your concern. Are you not human? Are you not one of us still, or has your coveted position as a Citibank customer service rep somehow morphed you into some kind of non-human? Do you not see that jacking peoples’ interest rate to 28% where they are forced to pay you over $300 in interest payments a month could bankrupt them?” “Sir how can I help you?” he asked me again like a robot, without feeling, without remorse, without any awareness of what he was taking part in. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have used the card if you couldn’t pay for it...” he finally said.

“Hey listen 8126, I used the card because I thought I had a 6% interest rate as you promised in your introductory offer. Why do you play with people like this?” Our conversation went on and on like this for almost an hour. He wasn't going to do anything. There was no way out. I was trapped. I would be forced to pay them over $300 in interest alone till the balance of the card which was about $10,000 was paid off. At that rate it would take me about 40 years to do so. I was fucked. And what got me the most was thinking about all the people out there with families who were in the same position. Me, I could find a way to deal with this. I could get another card, do a transfer. I could get out of this somehow. But how the hell do you justify doing this to people with families? I just couldn’t believe it.

By the time I got off the phone with this man I felt so helpless and so uncared for. There was nothing I could do. My God the horror. Little did this tiny maggot of a man know what was to befall him and his coworkers because of that one fateful conversation that fall evening a year ago. People don't experience real justice in this world. People here in capitalist America think that they can do anything they want to other people and just get away with it. Feeling no blame or guilt or remorse. But I swore to myself when I awoke underground that I would change that. I am living on borrowed time. I know that. Any day could be my last. But until that day comes, I will seek that justice for every man women and child on this planet.

It took me some time, but I had located the building where Mr. 8126 worked. It was not hard. Hundreds of them worked out of a customer service call center in Oklahoma. I entered the Citibank call center building innocently enough. I had a fedora on. An overcoat. Sunglasses and a scarf did their best to cover the Blue Mask. Underneath my coat I carried two automatic machine guns. You gotta love America. You can buy anything you want to in this great country. Even automatic machine guns. I immediately shot everyone inside the entrance way to the ground except the two women at the reception desk. They screamed. I walked up to them. one of them reached for the phone. I shot her point blank in the head. She fell. I asked the other one, “tell me where the call center is now!” she stuttered... “second floor...” “thank you,” I responded, and then shot her at least five times. I had always wanted to do that.

In the elevator I thought about it. These snotty ignorant uncaring sluts that work at these places just go about their day to day lives as the company they work for fucks over millions of their fellow Americans. They eat their lunch. They go home and make their dinners. Watch their inane television shows. And act like nothing is going on. While their “customers” suffer day in and day out. They tell themselves that everything is o.k. that they aren't responsible. That they can’t do anything about it.... well now these receptionist sluts are dead. Serves them right. it is about time that people started taking responsibility for their actions in this country. Perhaps as some people claim, it is just the nature of the capitalist system that we have here in America. That it isn't anyone's fault. But I never fell for that one. And you know what? Perhaps a man being able to purchase two automatic weapons and then walking into a call center and blowing everyone away is also just the nature of the capitalist system that we have here as well.

I got off on the second floor and began firing at every single person at every single desk in front of me. Lady in front of the copy machine, dead. Man at the water cooler, dead. Man at his desk too scared to move, dead. Woman at desk screaming, dead. Man running towards a glass office, dead. Bodies fell everywhere. “Tell me where the fuck station 8126 is now!” a woman under a desk pointed towards the back. “Thank you,” and I shot her. Right in the fucking head. I began to walk quickly towards the back of the giant room. Whenever I saw someone move I shot them. Once or twice or ten times. This was one of the most powerful experiences I have ever felt. No, I take that back, this was the most powerful experience I had ever felt. This is something that will last forever in the hearts and minds of America. Sure Citibank will try to make it look like it was just random violence and that it was through no fault of theirs. Sure they will play the media, shit they own our fucking media. We haven't had free press in America in decades now. these bastard whores don't care what they sell or who they sell. They have sold America out to the highest bidder and we the people are trapped in a matrix of lies and deceit so fucking deadlocked that the only freedom we have left is deciding which channel of shit to turn on at night after we eat our toxic dinners of radiated and genetically modified preservative-infested food. The people will know after today. This isn't one woman in the back of a store. This is huge. They will know it inside of their hearts. No one will speak up. everyone will be too afraid to stand up to these fucking monopolistic blood sucking bastards, but inside, the people will understand the necessity of this action here today.

When I found Mr. 8126 he was a cowering sobbing baby hiding underneath his desk. He must have been frightened half to death already because he could not speak. He just sobbed. I had shot so many people all around him, aqll    but I spared his life. it was obvious. Are you Mr. 8126?!” I shouted. “Answer me!” “8126 is my extension”... he stuttered. “So you don't even have the decency to tell people your fucking name! I grabbed him by his necktie and dragged him out from under his desk. While holding him by his tie, I took my knee and smashed his face into my knee about six times until his face was a bloody mess. “You selfish fucking soulless bastard! So you're the infamous Mr. Fucking 8126 huh?! ” I kneeled down next to him... he was crying like a baby. Tears shot out of his eyes, blood and snot dripped from his nose.... “Why are you doing this?” he whimpered...

I heard a sound behind us. I spun around and saw someone about thirty yards away trying to make a run out of the room. I yelled and shot. Must have unloaded twenty bullets into her. The fat bitch fell to the floor instantly like a big blob of blubber. “hahahahahaha!!!” I yelled. I quickly darted back around to 8126. He was just kneeling there crying. He knew it was over. People can tell when it’s over. What a pathetic piece of shit he was now that he was face to face with one of his “customers.”

“Now where were we? Oh yeah. You were asking me why I was doing this right? but I don't know what you mean Mr. 8126.... Why am I doing what?” I kicked him in his face. He bounced back and fell to the ground. “Why am I killing all of you fucking criminals? You don't think this is fair? Is that it? you don't think that its fair that I have slaughtered you all like the pigs that you are? All of you heartless mother fuckers who take advantage of your fellow Americans, day after fucking day, with no mercy. Who fuck over your neighbors everyday of your fucking lives and then act like you’re not doing anything when you are on the phone with us?!” I pounded my boot into his stomach three times. ‘wham! Wham! Wham!’ “why am I doing this you ask?! Could it be the fucking 28% you stupid fucking robot?!” I yelled. “Stand up you asshole!” I jerked his quivering body up to his feet. Put your head down on your desk Mr. 8126! I yelled. “What are you going to do to me.... the pathetic little baby cried. “Shut the fuck up and bend over and put your head down on your desk Mr. Fucking 8126!”

“my... name... is... Arnold,” he tells me all of a sudden. He was crying. “What did you just say you pathetic piece of shit?” “My name .... is Arnold Fein,” he stuttered. “Arnold Fein? That's your name?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “You are telling me your name now? NOW?! I call you in need, another person in need on the other end of that phone and you can’t even be bothered to tell me your name, you just give me some number at a desk.... and now that I am about to splatter your fucking brains all over this office, now you are trying to tell me your name?!!! God you are so fucking stupid.” I took the butt of the machine gun and jabbed it into his stomach as hard as I could. His body jerked over and he moaned, and then grasping for his breath. I kicked his face up with my boot. “You stupid fuck!” I grabbed him by his hair and smashed his head onto his desk. “Now just keep your head there 8126. And don't you think for a fucking second that I will call you by your fucking name you slave. You don't have a name! You haven't had a name in years. You are not one of us you fuck! Keep your fucking head there and don't move!” he was motionless and just whimpered.

I heard someone else sobbing close to us. In the desk next to this mans, I looked under the desk and there was this Hispanic woman hiding under her desk with her hands over her head. I pointed to her. “You. Get up. Get out from under there.” she started crawling towards me on her hands and knees. Crying like a baby. Pathetic. “Look at me.” she tried to look at me but couldn’t force herself to. Her makeup was running all over her face from crying so much. “What do you do? What is your job?” “Customer service...” she stuttered out. “Customer service? Isn't that what 8126 does here? 8126, isn't that what you do? Customer service?” “yes.” he responded but he didn't move his head from his desk. “so you're a greedy selfish uncaring bastard just like this guy then? Do you enjoy fucking people over bitch?” she did not answer. She just sobbed. “o.k. bitch. Watch Mr. 8126. Watch what happens to customer service reps like all of you pieces of shit.” I turned around to face 8126. “8126 are you ready to die?!” I screamed. “Don't shoot me...” he managed to stammer... “I'm not going to shoot you asshole. I didn't come all this way to shoot you.” I grabbed his phone from his desk and ripped the cable out of the wall. I then proceeded to smash it on his head that was lying there on his desk. I smashed his head three times straight, very quickly. The Hispanic woman screamed and cried. now she was hysterical. Which made it all the more fun. Not much blood actually. But his body fell to the ground next to his desk. He was still conscious but his face was a mess. He moaned.

“How can I help you 8126?! How can I help you?!” I yelled to him as he lay there quivering and bleeding. “Let me live” he sputtered out. “Let you live?! Oh I'm sorry Mr. 8126, I can’t do that. only a machine can do that!” I yelled and then kicked him in the stomach about five times as hard as I could. His body coiled. “28% interest Mr. 8126?! Do you know why you are dying you piece of shit?!” I yelled. I smashed his phone on his head repeatedly. Each time there was more and more blood. And each time the lady on the floor next to us who was afraid to even move screamed louder and louder. “No one made the decision sir.” I teased him as I continued to hit him in the head and kick him. “A machine made the decision! Machines make the decisions sir.” I continued to beat his head with his phone till all I could see was a bloody mess. “There is nothing I can do! Isn't that right Mr. 8126?! I can’t help you sir. I just work here. It doesn’t matter what I think sir.... Do you remember how many times you said those same words to people you fucking piece of shit?!!! I continued to smash his head until I literally crushed his skull. He had no face left. I stood up and kicked him in the stomach five more times. Maybe ten. I did not shoot him. I was covered in his blood. Mr. 8126 had learned the lesson of a lifetime. Too bad he had to sacrifice his life to do so. But chances are that many people over the years had pleaded with him. begged him for mercy. And he did nothing. Just like he did with me on that phone that fateful day. little did he know what would come of it.

I looked up at the Hispanic customer service rep. Blood all over me. She was in shock. She could not stop screaming. She had her hands up in the air. I stared at her. I was breathing very heavy. “Shut up lady! You're fucking driving me crazy.” she started praying I think. I could hear her under her breath. She was praying to the Virgin Mary. “You fucking bitch. Listen to yourself. you spend all day ripping people off. Ruining people’s days. Destroying peoples’ credit and destroying their lives. And where is your fucking Virgin Mary then? Huh? I grabbed her by the hair and looked her right in the eye. She could see my blood stained eyes peering at her through my mask. I must have looked like a demon by this point. I must have killed over fifty people so far. my blood was boiling. “Where is your fucking God when you are sacrificing your neighbors and your fellow man on the other end of that phone you selfish bitch. And now you are praying when YOU are in trouble? All of you religious people are the same.” I stood up. She just sat there with her arms in the air, chanting or praying over and over again.... “Stay on your knees. Say your sorry. Tell me that you are fucking sorry for all the pain you have caused people over the years.” “I'm sorry...” she barely whispered. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you. Say it again.” “iiiiiiiiimmmmmmm sooooorrrrrryyyyy!” she screamed bloody murder. Before she even got the chance to finish I just shot her right in the head. God that felt good. She just dropped. I shot her a few more times. and then I turned around and looked at poor Mr. 8126. Beneath his twisted and disfigured head was a mass of blood. He was dead already. I shot him a few times anyway. His body jumped a bit. I was tired. I stepped over his body and started to head for the stairwell.

As I was walking towards the stairwell I heard a lot of crying. A lot of whimpering. People hiding. People injured but not quite dead yet. But I was tired. I was tired of killing. I was tired of shouting. I needed to rest. I needed to exit quickly and get underground. I heard someone behind a door. I opened it quickly and raised my gun to shoot. There was a young guy standing there crowded in the closet with one of his feet in a fucking mop bucket. “Get out,” I said. “Don’t kill me.” he cried. He looked like he wasn't older than 20 years. “What's your name?” “My name is Paul.” He could barely speak. He looked like a regular guy. No suit or tie. He looked like a working guy. “Paul? Good name. That's an honest name. Are you an honest person Paul?” “Yes...” “Then why do you work here?” I laughed. “I am a super....” “Look, never mind. I don't care. Listen to me. You are going to live.” He didn't say anything. “Grab that mop and bucket of yours. Follow me. Lets go!” he grabbed his mop and bucket from the closet and we began to walk.

“Paul I know you are nervous. Anyone would be. But I am going to let you live, O.K.? You are going to tell this story Paul. In fact you are an integral part of this story Paul. Come here. You see all that blood that Mr. 8126 is lying in now?” “Yes...” he mumbled. “Mop it up Paul. Do your best. mop up that blood and wring the blood out into your bucket. Do the same thing with this Spanish bitch’s blood next to him. c'mon lets move.” He began to mop up the blood and wring out the mop into the bucket. Deep red blood. Tons of it. I kept the gun pointed at him and talked to him.

“You are going to live Paul. You are the super of this building?” “One of them..” he said. “O.k. so you're not fucking over anyone, right?” “Right.” “O.k. good, then just keep mopping. You are going to tell this same story to everyone that you speak with over the next few months. You are going to become very famous because I am going to let you live. o.k.?” “O.K.” “Good, how's the bucket? Almost full? Good. Follow me now.” I walked to the giant glass window that covered the entire side wall of the giant call center room. Paul followed me dragging his bucket full of blood behind him. “Paul grab you're mop, get it nice and full of blood, o.k.? you got it?” he did not answer me. I could tell he was going to start crying again. “Paul listen to me. you are going to live. now stop crying or I'm going to shoot you too and do this myself. I'm fucking tired man. Please just do what I say. O.k.? do you hear me?!” “o.k.,” he stuttered. He started crying though. I knew he would.

“Now Paul I want you to take your mop and I want you to write in as big of letters as you can on the window with that blood. O.k.? You are going to write in big letters ‘STOP FUCKING US!’ O.K. Paul? You got it? O.k. good. Do it!” Paul lifted his mop up out of the bucket and blood dripped off the mop onto the floor. He lifted it to the window and started to write. “Good Paul. Do it bigger Paul. Make the letters bigger Paul!” I kept my gun pointed at him. I followed his every move with the gun. “Good Paul. Keep going. Make the letters big Paul!” he continued to write across the giant windows. “Goddamn Paul, you are a fucking artist, you know that? you are an artist. that's excellent.” He finished. he was crying still. “Now Paul you can put the mop back in the bucket. We’re finished. How do you like that? huh? Good work man. Good work.” He didn't say anything.

“Now Paul, do you see what you have just written on the glass window behind me?” “Yes.” “What does it say?” “it says ‘stop fucking us....’” he replied. “Yes it does. Paul repeat it again.” “Stop fucking us...” he let out between sobs. “Do you know who the ‘us’ is Paul?” he didn't say anything. “The ‘us’ is you and me Paul. The ‘us’ is all of us. Everybody. The innocent people who are victims to these large and greedy corporations that you work for.” He said nothing. Just stood there with his hands by his sides crying.

“Paul can I ask you something?” I put my gun down to my side. “Do you believe in capital punishment? Of course you do. We’re in fucking Oklahoma.” “Yes, I guess so...” he responded. “So even if some of the people turn out to be innocent after we execute them, you still believe in the idea of capital punishment, right?” He looked down to the floor and sobbed. I must have been a grotesque site. I think it was in this moment that Paul understood what all this was about. this was his moment of epiphany. Normally when someone asks you a question like this its easy to give some flippant answer about justice or the occasional unfortunate innocent victim... but after seeing what he saw today, this question would hold special meaning. For anyone it would.

I stood in front of him with the gun pointed straight at him. “I never did believe in capital punishment before. You know that? I used to think it was a barbaric idea. But something changed in me. What you witnessed here today was like capital punishment Paul. Do you understand? I know you can’t quite understand everything you saw today, but I just want to make sure that you understand what I am saying so you can repeat it. You don't have to agree with what I did here today. o.k.?” “O.k.” he barely managed to let out. “When they ask you why you lived and everyone else died you are going to tell them that you have a message. And what is that message? Tell me now.” “I don't know....” he began crying more. “No. You do know Paul. Think about it.” “stop fucking us?...” he spurted out. “Yes. That’s it. that's the message Paul. Look at it up there on the window.” We both stared at the window. It was a thing of beauty. “You helped deliver that message. And you're going to help deliver that message to the whole world over the next few months.” I pointed to the window behind me where it was written in giant letters, in the blood of the guilty bastards, ‘stop fucking us.” I smiled beneath the mask. “That is the message Paul. No matter what they tell you, no matter what they tell you to say or how they try to influence you. You are going to tell them the message. Over and over and over again. They are going to try to blame this mess on me. They are going to tell you that I am crazy Paul. And perhaps I am. But that is not the message. How I look or how I speak or how I dress or even what I eat for lunch is not the message. The message is...” I paused. “Stop fucking us...” he finished. “Yes. That is the message. I am leaving now. You can sit down. Or call the police, or do whatever people do after they experience something like this. I know you must be very upset. I'm sure some of these people were your friends. Or at least you thought they were. But you are going to live.” I put my gun under my coat and started to walk away from him towards the stairwell. What a fucking massacre I thought to myself...

“Who are you...?” he asked me as I walked away. I stopped and turned to face him. His face was pale as a ghost; he was shaking. Clearly in shock. But he had guts. “I am the Blue Mask Paul.” I then exited down the stairs and out the back of the building. I could hear what sounded like hundreds of sirens in the distance. I made my way to the nearest manhole and ran like hell for over an hour. I have no idea how many people I killed. Well over fifty. Another good day. Tomorrow will be better.