sbb78247 >, the skin-headed-idler and
tongue-tied him-her who likes earth-shattering courtesy ****s with
xenopus, and whose partner is a minx with a gaping dicky dino, wrote in
>:
> Tommy Tuner wrote:
>> On Sat, 08 Jul 2006 00:38:00 +0000, David Teichholtz wrote:
>>
>>> When I bought my 97 SL1, it came with two keys. The ignition switch
>>> had been replaced and the idiots who did it did not bother to have
>>> the switch coded to the car.
>>>
>>> Today, while doing some other work to the car which involved having
>>> one of the door skins off, I decided to pull both door lock
>>> cylinders, the trunk cylinder and the ignition and get them coded to
>>> the key to my 95 SW1. Now one key works both cars. Locksmith
>>> charged $40 to recode the cylinders.
>>>
>>> -David
>>
>> So now we know why Locksmithing is a dying trade and most locksmiths
>> are starving.
>>
>> The last locksmith I met hadn't bathed in weeks, smelled to high
>> heaven and basically lived inside his smelly, messed up van.
>>
>> He had half his teeth missing (or installed, depending upon how you
>> look at it) and couldn't string together a simple sentence composed
>> of words a 3rd grader would understand.
>> In the proper order of course.
>>
>> We used to have a couple of smiths' do work for the dealer I work at
>> but we quickly discovered that any idiot with the proper machine can
>> generate a key for a car so we cut them loose.
>>
>> We ended up saving money big time because the number of cars the
>> lockmsiths screwed up (mostly popped airbags) was substantial.
>>
>> My impression of Locksmiths is that they rank below insurance
>> salesmen but ever so slightly above a dustman.
>
> honestly, who gives a ****?

The dustman who has been classed as a lesser mortal than a ****ing
locksmith.
**** me! At least dustmen do something useful on a regular basis and don't
expect to be paid large sums of money for ****ing things up.



--
Lunch was nice;
Dishonoured mudskipper intestine with bladder seasoning under dirty carp
abscess and jackal liver topping garnished with half-raw hippopotamus
gizzard next to blemished cadaver foreskins and opossum penis topping,
simmered in a splashing bucket overflowing with big medley of stomach in
festering gore, a side of fruit and a pint of pond scum.