Dear (Insert Health Insurance Provider Here):
You, my friend, are a bag of douche. You are the right hand man to Lucifer himself. You are a total asshat. You are the bane of my existance. You are the reason that it was 90 degrees today, in October. Quite candidly, YOU SUCK.
Your corporations financially damage people by squeezing ungodly amounts of money out of them and in exchange you provide them with a plastic card to carry, a little tangible prod from your finance department. Unobserved by most, these precious jems have a miniscule clause printed almost microscopically at the bottom which reads: “We will adhere to the fee schedule that we have provided you if we feel like it. Sometimes, just to mess with you and to keep you on your toes, we’ll deny a claim. In order to get it paid, you will need to spend approximately 30 minutes holding for one of our inept Claims Specialists, and then an additional 45 minutes, although most likely it will be more, trying to explain the situation and clarify the billing, the amount paid, the disallow and the member liability. Not to mention the fact that we will do everything in our power to keep you at work and on the claims specialist phone call well after your 8-5 working day. Mazel tov!” And lucky me, I work for a company which does this for their clients… *tight lipped smile* *sarcastic laughing* Aha haha. Aha haha.
To ye insurance companies, I say this:
May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits and may your arms be too short to scratch. May the ground open up below you and swallow you down into it’s molten core, reguritate you and swallow you back time and time again, for all of eternity. May you be present when the next postal employee decides to see how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall. May your six-digit annual salaries bring you nothing but despondent requests from needy, dependent relatives who are constantly in debt. To you, I say good day.