Sticket up my Ass Master Ticketmaster

Buying gig tickets through rip-off masters Ticketmaster is pain in the anus. The sore feeling you get after logging-off is there to remind all of us of it’s “aberrant practices”.

To describe it as “intercourse via the anus for both men and women” would be too kind. How the customers are treated is unnatural and abnormal, leaving us all feeling used, withdrawn, red raw and gaping; to be found days later curled up in a corner sobbing and crying out for Mamma.

How apt then that my random verification security code built into Ticketmaster’s plebsite describes the very back-door online malpractice that’s been forced down our throats for the last decade.

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