"Cumberland Rules" Clause Adds Spice as Winter Beater Challenge Heats up Again

 

  CWMC Headquarters, Ardrossan, Ab: Following in the tradition of the Hindenburg, Skylab, "Freedom 55" and General Motors, CWMC Agents and President alike have been hard at work as Operation Too Dumb to Quit swings into high gear with irresponsible amounts of effort and precious funding being invested in failed automotive paradigms with cryptic classifications like "Aries LE" and "99GL". Other Agents are getting in on the act as the snow season approaches, bringing with it the inevitable one-upmanship and rampant funding fraudulence of the Winter Beater Challenge.

Will Battle Cruiser #4 come out of retirement?

  Agent 533, not happy to be shepherd- -ing just one 2.2 Chrysler into antiquity, has taken the plunge again and is attempting to enlist a second version of this Klassic Kombo for winter duty; this time in the seductive form of an '85 Dodge Aries K. Beige, no less; with an automatic and a radio. 

533 with new WBC entry before tranny trauma...

  The radio, at least, appears to be in good order and seems to provide trouble-free access to AM frequencies, ensuring that 533 will remain informed of fluctuating hog prices and developing weather situations. Unfortunately, the car's only other option seems to have already resigned, leaving a smoky trail of fried clutches and dark-brown-Dexron II in its debris field. Rather than simply eat the $400.00 purchase price as a loss and sell the remains for science experiments, 533 has decided on to take the less-traveled road and invest in completely rebuilding the little slushbox on his floor at home, much to the delight of fellow Agents; always happy to experience their suffering vicariously and preferably with someone else's money.
   As this issue goes to press, 533 reports that "All systems are go... most of these extra little balls and springs and shit probably don't do anything anyway." 
  He then re-focused his attention on the pressing problem of propping up the power plant with cases of ammo and bits of kindling to facilitate the re-installation of the rebuilt unit. The President, called in to assist when competent collaborators could not be coerced, made himself useful by getting mega-ripped and eating leftover chocolate bars while leaning on the jack and going on at some length about how the Aries might be improved were it fitted with some dog-dish hubcaps and an oversized turbocharger.

  Agent 303, whose weakness for crippled ersatz-luxury barges has been well-documented in this newsletter, is not going to be left out this season, either. With a host of mid-70's FoMoCo heaps to choose from (sporting nicknames like "Garbage Truck", "Barnacle", and "Train Wreck"), 303 looks to be a serious contender again this year.

"Barnacle" shows 303 is at the top of his game.

   "I think I can put something together, but these guys are off the chain..." said Agent 303, citing again the "Cumberland Rules" clause when asked why his car had no trunk floor at all and only sporadic access to second gear. "If you got there, it's good to go" is basically the gist of the sentiment that sprang from the rather loose interpretation of the rules of 8-ball in certain parts of the country where 303 hails from originally.
 The President, whose brief encounters with reality tend to follow a depressingly familiar pattern, was last seen winding up a 4-day intercontinental booze cruise down at the local 7-11, abusing the proprietor over the scanty selection of Saab spares and equally miserable 4-carton stock of Export "Green Meanies", which were promptly commandeered in the interests of promoting a measure of diplomacy. 

I know some of you think we make this shit up.

  Sidelong smoke-break Saab-speculation seems to suggest this latest break with reality may have been precipitated by a desperate, month-long thrash to ready the ruined 99 for WBC '14 that went off the rails when the water pump shit itself immediately following the first successful test-drive, thus returning the car to spectator-status until further notice. After the bodywork, paint, wiring harness replacement, ball joints, interior rebuild, heater rebuild, brake rebuild and multiple-hour troubleshooting fuckstorm, the failure of the notorious Achilles-heel pump and the associated ferocity of the repair process combined with the absolute impossibility of locating replacement parts has taken its toll on Captain Crapulence's delicate connection with actuality. Again.

1080: Coulda been a contendah...

  Agent 1080 was determined to be a worthy rival this season, too, but seems to have gotten cold feet when his choice chariot 1978 Chrysler New Yorker returned gas mileage so utterly horrifying, so shockingly vile as to send him screaming for the anonymity of some kind of late-model salt-sled with which to make the commute and still be able to make the mortgage. His retreat has only made the remaining contestants more determined.

President's slowly seeping Saab: Fuck it, just bring a bucket.

  All Agents are encouraged to get in on the action as the snow is piling up and nothing says Happy Holidays like the smug satisfaction of a CWMC WBC Champion in a rusty deathtrap limping along the shoulder on the way to the annual drunk, ass-grabbing, tell-off-your-boss-and-puke-in-the-parking-lot office xmas party.

Agency S.C.U.M. Cruiser Updates and Controversy Again Over FCD Ruling

CWMC Headquarters, Ardrossan, Ab:  Late summer: long, sunny, unproductive afternoons and warm, boozy evenings, with plenty of time for idle contemplation and window shopping on the internet's bottomless used-car market. Well, almost bottomless; CWMC Agents can usually be found exploring the classic car counterpart to the Marianas Trench, often battling the President himself for the bring-a-battery bargains that show up under headlines like Good Derby Car and Going to Crusher on Friday.
  Sometimes you just know things intuitively, like when a movie is going to be terrible (stars any wrestler), or, by just a single stomach-churning lyric or churchy C-major chord change, that you've inadvertently selected the Christian radio station. In the same way, it is never too difficult to tell that the Agency Cruiser that has just pulled up at HQ belongs to the notorious Agent 303. It could be the ancient, cracking whitewalls, or the punched-out trunk lock and piece of rope holding the lid sort-of-closed, but there's definitely a certain vibe around 303's S.C.U.M. cruisers: a kind of grinning in the face of hopeless obsolescence mixed with an air of subtle menace that surrounds those with almost nothing to lose; the vehicular equivalent of a homeless rottweiler. Somewhere, a plate is jammed in a rear window, appropriated from a long-ago-sold sedan of similar description. The bumper might be gone, but the luxury lives on. 
  303's latest forays into the shady no-mans-land between the back alley and the scrap yard have netted a pair of Cruisers that epitomize his near-unchallenged stature as S.C.U.M. Champion First Class, showcasing what it takes to wear the blue ribbon of beater-town. A Lincoln Town Coupe, carbon-dated to the late-70's, serves to showcase his aesthetic preference for faded glory; its padded half-vinyl Landau top long-ago stripped away and brushed over in black Tremclad, bondo bulging as ancient rust repairs resurface under the sun-bleached $249.00 splash. 

It's either 303, or someone's great-great-aunt is lost...

  "I just love Lincolns," said 303 today in an interview from his luxurious north-side estate, where he was busy camou- flaging several of his other Cruisers with branches and grass clippings to hide them from the landlord.
  "...I mean, how awesome is this moonroof? If it had brakes, I would probably drive it even more."
  Beside the Lincoln sits another signature piece: some kind of Oldsmobile-ish coupe, also dating from the days of Bee-Gees and bellbottoms. Found sitting in the junkyard, it too was rescued and given a loving home by the crazy-cat-lady of big, domestic 2-door bombers. This sweetheart mega-canoe steps out with an efficient 400-ish cubes shredding the decrepit museum-ready radials on command while we recline in corduroy comfort, burning huge spliffs and sneering at the mortals in their payment-plan shame-sheds.

Yes, Agent 533 is stocking up on head gaskets.

  Agent 533's Cuiser status, meanwhile, has been massively upgraded from "Pretty Cool" to "Pretty Goddamn Cool" following the long-expected expiration of his namesake Bavarian Motor. It sits, mellowing gracefully in the shrubbery; the first leaves of fall skating lazily across the parched paint and lodging themselves comfortably under the wipers and behind the windshield weatherstrip, waiting for winter.
  "I needed an upgrade..." said 533 in an interview earlier this week, speaking loudly to be heard over the turbo whine and cool-jazz soundtrack grooving together as he prepares for liftoff. "In keeping with Company Policy of buying the cars you wanted when you were in elementary school, I've decided to go with the Omni GLH Turbo... "

Agents on the scene to inspect the new cruisers...

  In an only-just-barely-predicable move today, the French Car Division has offered its endorse- ment of 533's new cruiser, claiming that since its not-too-distantly related to the Talbot / Simca Horizon introduced in late 1977, (superseding the Simca 1100), it qualifies as a French car, and, therefore, budgets for that Division need to be adjusted accordingly.
  533's new Field Unit is actually so tidy that it will have to be supplemented shortly with another, more disposable rig in order that the salt be kept from the delicate flanks of one of the last surviving Omnis in the known universe. 
  All Agents are advised to get shopping, as Winter Beater Challenge will soon be upon us again, and there are just so many different ways to Subvert Conventional Urban Mediocrity.

Bad Decision Train Picking up Speed as Summer Clunker Season Kicks off in Earnest

Cold War Motors Outdoor Storage Facility #3, Ardrossan Ab: Connoisseurs clamored for crusty close-ups today as the Presidents car "collection" swelled again, this time celebrating the inexplicable arrival of another pair of high-rent classics courtesy of the Domestic Car Division and it's insatiable enthusiasm and uncanny capacity for post-war Americana at it's very most mediocre; saluting again the most awe-inspiring underachievements in ponderous 4-door sedan styling and poverty powertrains.

It doesn't run, but at least it's rusty

  Both of these latest dumpy darlings command corrosive curbside appeal, having probably stained the back rows of innumerable mud-lot markets over their long, shitty, slow-ass existences, and would have immediately been cheerfully cubed had any other semi-sensible organization ended up in possession of their tired, rotten, mouse-eaten carcasses.

Lucky one tail light is still... wait- no, it's broken, too.

  How and when it was decided that a 1957 Studebaker Champion should occupy the ledger of what some experts are calling "Operation South Bender" will likely remain among the many mysteries whose unraveling will be left to the archivists, accountants, and authors of what are sure to be a glut of tell-all biographies, sensationally slapped together to capitalize on the public's ravenous, bottomless appetite for self-destruction and comedic ineptitude.
  The President, secretly self-satisfied with the stricken Stude, has allocated double-digit funding to the Operation, making it one of the most expensive and grandiose ever undertaken, and probably among the most likely to result in grievous financial misconduct at every level. Flagrantly exorbitant purchases like 2 exhaust valves and a like number of connecting rod bearings are running up the red ink like an alcoholic, gambling-addicted televangelist whose wife just left him for a cute tattoo artist named Fiona. If there is enough capital left in the Company at the conclusion of this Operation to throw an old blanket over the seats in the crispy, threadbare interior, this reporter will be surprised indeed.
   Somewhere in the backs of their minds, many an auto aficionado will keep a list, long or short (or both, of course) of the cars that they will buy if they get a chance. It is the humble opinion of this publication that you could probably flip through every list ever made by every car collector and you would not exactly be overwhelmed by the number of times "1967 Fury I 4-door sedan" appears in your reading.

The name is synonymous with high performance.

  Just when staff at HQ had started to get used to the newest austerity programs ("Don't Flush the Toilet Tuesdays" are a surprise hit), budgets were slashed again (Candlelight Thursdays!) to bankroll this latest Presidential Battle Cruiser acquisition. Fresh from Agent 1080's Private Limited Personal Stock of 67-8 Furies, PBC #5 has been promoted to Outdoor Storage Facility #1, joining a half-dozen other haggard hopefuls behind the Fence of Shame, awaiting various amounts of attention and, inevitably, financing.
  Seeking to cash in (5 years too late, of course) on the muscle-car craze that has all but ruined the entire hobby, the President figures he can retire on the windfall he will surely realize when he flogs his original paint, three-on-the-tree, radio-deletee sweetie for maximum profit. Agents, fearful of invoking the legendary profanity, have been reluctant to remind el Grande Imbecilo that an important part of the muscle car experience is actually the big engine.

Another blue-chip stock; FoS needs extension already.

  Not that it even runs, either. This slant six is locked up like Manson, scheduled for replace- ment as soon as another can be located. Will this new Cruiser force the retirement of the legend, Battle Cruiser #3? Will 5 years mark the end of the reign of the 1972 Fury II coupe as Winter Beater Champion? Is it even a good idea to try? 
  "I don't care about your winter beater bullshit, I'm a muscle car guy now." said the President in an interview earlier today, trying on white sunglasses at London Drugs and getting some nervous looks from the staff, wary of the catastrophically inebriated.
   "Now is my time... I can feel it... coolness is within my grasp.

   Nonchalant confidence, thy name is Fury I."
  All Agents are reminded to start bringing their own chairs to the office, and report to Agent 086 to pick up your requisite rubber hose for "Siphoning Saturdays".

Domestic Car Division Accidentaly Purchases a Rare and Interesting Car

CWMC Domestic Car Division, Ardrossan, Ab: A missing Van Gogh? What-ever. The Venus De Milo? An armless rock. Dead Sea Scrolls? -yawn- Don't even get this reporter started.
  That's right, taking it's rightful place at the top rung of the amazingly accidental discoveries list...

Priceless patina intact...

  Another rusty 4-door sedan! Oh, the glory and fame that showered down upon the CWMC Cold Storage Yard! Reporters from all of the major enthusiast magazines jostled among the smouldering flash bulbs for a few words from the President, and busloads of bespectacled auction-house-heavyweight, double-black-belt car nerds slashed themselves pale on the compound's razor-wire perimeter fence, desperate for a glimpse of this year's most amazing automotive authentication. 
  The Army (well... the KISS Army) had to be called in briefly to help control the crowd, and to organize a pretty magic all-KISS Karaoke Kontest, which was later cancelled when the posters were printed using a poor choice of abbreviations and unfortunate, burning-cross imagery borrowed from Sabbath.

It's radio delete, of course.

  Eventually, some semblance of order was restored and The Prez, his disappoint- ment at not being elected Pope plain to see and his countenance betraying clearly the type of fatigue that only long-term drug and alcohol abuse coupled with the screaming of profanity at inanimate objects for hours at a time can produce, did manage a speech so foul, so bereft of redeemable qualities in even the briefest of passages that it shall serve as a maledictive high-water mark for generations to come, and as a reminder of the perils of letting unedited speechwriters and reporters consume copious quantities of magic mushrooms before large, public events.

Worth its weight in...well, steel.

  The 1951 Kaiser Special was apparently some kind of coral pink metallic back when houses were less than 10 grand and the future was still something to be looked forward to, but the brilliant paint, like that naive post-war optimism, has faded to nothing but rust and failure. Appropriate, then, that the CWMC HARASS (Half-Assed Researchers And Serial # Sleuths) team would deliver this car to HQ months before discovering its unusual, Canadian origins. One of only 1000 made in Canada, and one of only three known to survive, it is thought that the car's extreme rarity and nice color combination could place its value somewhere around $275.00, making it the first car in the history of CWMC that turned out to be worth more than the purchase price.

  In other ground-breakingly, critically important news, the President has chosen a surprise, come-from-outta-nowhere winner upon whom to bestow this season's omni-coveted Winter Beater of the Year. Seldom has the WBOTY selection process been an easy one, with the debate invariably degenerating fairly quickly to drunken name-calling, followed by outright hostility and usually ending badly, culminating in trips to the hospital, jail, or rehab. Or all three. 

This is how we do it...

 This year, however, there was one Agency S.C.U.M. Cruiser that stood out from the crowd of throwaway Taurii and flaky Fox-bodies, and it was unanimously decided that Agent 303 would take home the honors for his visionary, brave choice of a 1972 Olds 98 coupe.
  Its menacing facade still shiny in several places, this gigantic General generates a whole fuckload of 9 mpg BTU's inside as Agent 303 reclines in plush velour armchair awesomeness, isolated from the world and its lesser machines. He is not concerned that he has to start the car with a race-car-set trigger-style device from under the hood, nor with the smorgasbord of different tires at each corner; 303 knows that he is rolling the only way that matters... with Full Presidential Approval.

Do you think these guys know each other?

President under Pressure as he Defends French Car Division's Accounting Atrocities

 

CWMC French Car Division, Ardrossan, Ab: The appearance at HQ of yet another shab-tastic five-speed Franco-diesel has apparently pushed the Accounting Division over the edge. The French Car Division's debt / GDP ratio, mathematically unsustainable and climbing for years now, has finally reached it's "hockey-stick" phase, and landed the President in court to defend himself and his favorite Division from the wrath of the Company's calculator commandos.
  The list of charges reads like a who's who of bad decisions: DS, CX, 604, 505... more oxidizing continental curiosities than any single company could hope to maintain without concocting some profound pecuniary prevarication.

  "The FCD's track record here speaks for itself, I'm afraid," said Agent 313 in an exclusive interview on CBC 2 today, "...there doesn't seem to be any real hope of fabricating some kind of a defensible high ground from which we can ward off these totally accurate- I mean crazy, charges."
  His High-ness, whose personal style has been accused by some of
"...post-Wagnerian grandiosity; given to Gatsby-esque Ferris-wheel installations and booze-cruising a dented yellow Silver Ghost in pipe-and-slippers-by-the-fire attire..." 
(The World's Biggest Assholes, Newsweek, July 1982.)
remains confident in the face of the overwhelming evidence against him and his FCD cohorts.
  "We'll just bullshit our way out of it. Booze, hookers, and speedboats for the right people and the whole stupid thing will go away. It's worked for thousands of years, so I don't expect there to be any change now. We'll just get them to 'lend' us the 'money', or whatever, and, well, fuck-'em, you know... is that mic on?"
  The President's own "manifesto" is expected to be presented as evidence in the case against him and his Company; drawn heavily from his earlier works of equally dubious merit, and reiterating similar "paranoid" themes of corruption and debauchery at every turn, it is believed unlikely to characterize him to the judiciary in a sympathetic and generous light.
  Court was adjourned briefly this afternoon until the President could be located, and, presumably, tidied up enough to make an appearance on the stand for some lively cross-examination by the attorney for the Accounting Division. A brief excerpt follows:

 

  All Agents have been advised to just keep up the good work, and don't, whatever you do, pull your "RRSPs" out of the company account and use the money for something meaningful. Everything is fine, just don't worry about it. Look! A tiger!

  Oh, it's gone now. Carry on.

Funding Free-for-All as Tobacco Livery nets Full Presidential Approval.

  CWMC Racing Headquarters, Ardrossan, Ab:  Following the devastating loss of Satan as a sponsor this year, the CWMC Racing Division was relieved to find another source of unholy evil sporting staggering fuckloads of semi-legal-tax-dodgin'-tender and happily welcomed several reviled mega-corporations aboard with assurances of front page performance and professionalism.

High hopes; higher drivers.

   Banned from sponsoring major-league motorsport, tobacco giants have had to rely strictly on the ruinous addiction factor to shore up sales, and they were desperate to get their colours back on some iron and tacked up on some bedroom walls, even if it meant handing over an irrational amount of "startup funds" to possibly the least effectual group of individuals in the history of motor sport, the CWMC Racing Division.
   With the promise of a bottomless cash cow funneling spine-chilling amounts of dough into the Racing Division's bank account, the Prez , in the hopes of feathering somewhat of a nicotinic nest-egg, had already begun drafting the plans for Operation Ultimate Safety Meeting Showdown, a complex series of protocols designed to demoralize even the most tenacious of accounting firms and ensure a tidy skim to help offset the cost of his own habits, both automotive and auto-destructive. Of course, this meant taking the actual cash out of the budget for the cars, which, if the skim had been a subtle series of feints and phantom delivery charges, would not have presented itself quite so obviously as it did this last season, with ferocious cost-cutting taking its toll on maintenance, and, inevitably, reliability.

Satan's money and connections will be missed.

  "I don't see any downside at all," said the President today, inter- viewed from his bed on the 11th floor of the Jiffy-Park on 132nd where he sat, propped up and somewhat ashen, burning through pack after pack of Marlboro Kings and Viscount 100s, pouring effective G&Ts one-handed and causing occasional flare-ups as gin-soaked sheets came in contact with falling butts, "I really can't imagine how this can go wrong."

Season shortened by Agent 406's killer Sunbird.

  The missing funding seems to be headed in several uncomfort- able directions; a decent chunk of it is immediately appropriated for narcotics and a similar wedge cut to keep the delivery trucks full of Beefeater and Bombay Dry backing up to the door. The rest gets harder to trace; the French Car Division is a likely suspect again here, but the sheer size of the Company makes a mockery of any attempts to navigate its convolutions.

8771's JPS in happier times

  "The potential for abuse here is just about impossible to overstate." said Agent 8771 today in a laborious telephone interview from Maui where he has been been "training" for several weeks now, apparently to improve his skills at shuffling around shit-headed, looking for his hotel after a rough workout of touristy, triple-umbrella cocktails at the beach, chaining free JPS Kings courtesy of his generous sponsor and throwing the butts at the playing dolphins while hollering incoherently about the "goddamn track conditions".

Lack of funding for maintenance is starting to show.

  Satan, meanwhile, has decided to concen- trate full-time on robbing the entire working middle class of their savings and his day job doesn't leave time to concentrate on motor sports as much as he wants to.
  "Look," he said, opening the door to his Prius, "just keep borrowing more money to buy depreciating assets. That's all I'm asking. And buy some stocks and shit like that; remember, you gotta be in for the long term."
  The President wished to remind all Agents that "You can print money, but you can't print stupid; that you have to supply yourself."

President Sets the Bad-Ide-O-Meter to 10; Breaks off the Knob

CWMC Headquarters, Ardrossan, Ab: With another year-end fiscal fuck-o-rama on the horizon, the President has authorized the immediate implementation of debilitating austerity measures for every Division in an attempt to mitigate the ghastly budgetary indiscretions of the past several months. 

Other admirers include neighbours and NAPA personnel.

  As is usually the case in these situations, the President is the principal source of the problem, and several of his latest acquisitions have been cause for more than the usual amount of Monday-morning coffee-pot quarterbacking and backhanded photocopier-leaning speculation concerning the seemingly inexhaustible appetite for intoxicants and insanity that seem to fuel his decision-making process. 
  At the center of this latest cash crisis sits, (immobile, naturally) not one, not two, but a trio of inert Saab 99s; all in a state that would make any sensible person run away screaming, holding their wallet protectively close to keep it from harm and gibbering long-suppressed scraps of scripture to ward off the evil. Actually exchanging real Authorized Funding for multiple dead examples of 35-year-old cars from an extinct company should trigger a few red indicators. If it does not, as is clearly the case within the Swedish Car Division, you probably have other wiring issues with your risk management circuitry.

Delicate detailing takes the breath away.

  On the topic of wiring issues, we come to the first of the 99's. Like the other two, the "restorable" example arrived by trailer, drizzling a Hansel and Gretel-esque trail of its remaining fuel onto the ground and smoldering suspiciously from underhood whenever any of its electric devices was engaged. It is apparently a 1978 model, and is actually being granted indoor storage because of its impossibly rust-free condition, and to hide it from locals suspicious of anything not powered by a Cummins. Test drives are being postponed until the vehicle is not actually ready to catch on fire at any second.

Saab #3: That door handle is still good.

  The second 99, a 4-door GLE model, has been the victim at some time in the recent past of some seriously counter-productive bodywork. Such is the damage caused by the previous owner that the car will be consigned to the parts bin, or possibly cobbled up into running condition and enlisted in the CWMC Winter Beater fleet. The President is considering assigning the car to Agent 100013, just to see the looks on the faces of his co-workers at NAPA.
  Saab #3 is ostensibly the "parts car" of the group; ready and willing to sacrifice itself for the betterment of the Saab community at large. Or, it would be if there were any good parts on it. The engine, transmission, radiator, and parts of the interior have already been removed, and the body panels are rusted out in the usual, depressing, places.

Agent 311: Serious allegations in Saab Scaandal.

   " #3 is basically just a windshield that takes up a lot of room and leaks power steering fluid on the grass." Said Agent 311 yesterday in a rarely heard telephone interview from his Swedish Car Division Office in Houston. CWMC's only other Trollhattan-thusiast is suspected by several other Agents not to have done enough to discourage these Sunday-stoner-time Saab-shopping binges.
  "What the hell is going on around here?" said a disbelieving Agent 1080 upon seeing the infestation of short, funny-looking Swedish sedans for the first time, "What the fuck are these things? Jesus, I...I...why? Are you keeping this junk? 
  Not a fan; these don't resemble 1968 Plymouths at all."
  Agent 0318 was similarly unmoved by the appearance of the 99's.
  "I try to be your friend, you know? Like, I didn't say anything when you bought that... CX? what the fuck is that thing? Some kind of a chopped Citation? What the hell are you going to do with that? You have two of them? And what's this other thing? Why would you buy any of this shit?"
  "Look, I just think it's time you took a minute... I mean, if you think that I'll ride in this thing..."  added Agent 1080, recoiling as he looked in on an interior devoid of decadence and die-cast decoration; upright seats, soft surfaces, and hieroglyphic heater controls combined to offend his slouchy, gear-banging, beer-cans-out-the-window style.
 The President, his capacity for subtlety severely diminished by a towering pair of able-bodied G&Ts, replied that
   "All Agents should be advised that year-end bonuses this term will consist largely of being told to fuck off."