They say the customer is always right. But what if the customer is always… Rick? Meet Rick Entitled, a man who turned five years of IT support into a Shakespearean tragedy starring himself as both victim and villain. For $600 a year, I gave him tech miracles, patience, and enough freebies to make a saint snap. Here’s how a rock-bottom deal and a contract written in actual fucking English couldn’t stop one man’s journey from client to keyboard gladiator. Buckle up—this one’s a shitstorm.
1. The Discount That Ate My Sanity
It started with a deal so sweet it should’ve come with a warning label: $600 a year for unlimited IT support. That’s less than Rick’s monthly kombucha budget, but did he appreciate it? Fuck no. For five years, I slung technical wizardry his way—server patches, password resets, and enough “quick calls” to fill a therapy session. Overages? Never billed. “Can you just check this real quick?” Never invoiced. I was his IT fairy godmother, waving my wand for free because I’m a dumbass who thought loyalty meant something.
Rick treated every favor like his birthright, piling on demands like a toddler stacking blocks before a tantrum. “MAKE MY EMAIL WORK!” he’d scream, as if I’d personally sabotaged his Outlook to ruin his fantasy football draft. By year three, I was dreaming of throttling him with an Ethernet cable. By year five? I was ready to yeet his server into the sun.
2. Communications, Red Flags, and All-Caps Emails
Rick didn’t just ignore emails—he treated them like they were written in Klingon. I’d send clear updates, scheduled calls, and polite nudges, only to get ghosted harder than a Craigslist hookup. But miss a single “urgent” text he sent at 2 a.m. on WhatsApp, Signal, or fucking carrier pigeon? Suddenly, he’s typing in all-caps like a boomer discovering the internet: “WHERE IS MY SUPPORT? THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!!!”
Every renewal was like hunting for Bigfoot. I’d send reminders via email, text, smoke signals—nothing. Radio silence until the word “collections” hit his inbox. Then, like a digital Dracula, Rick would rise from his coffin, fangs out, ready to suck my will to live. “HOW DARE YOU THREATEN ME?” he’d wail, as if paying his bill was a personal attack. Pro tip, Rick: If you’re gonna dodge invoices, don’t leave a paper trail of unhinged voicemails.
3. Renewal Roulette
When renewal time hit, I played the world’s shittiest game of roulette: Will Rick Pay, Ghost, or Go Full Karen? Spoiler: He chose door number three. I sent reminders for months—polite ones, firm ones, even a “pretty please, don’t make me sic collections on you” one. Nada. Rick was too busy living his best life, probably streaming yacht rock on the server I built, to acknowledge my existence.
Then the deadline passed, and services got suspended—per the contract he signed in blood (or at least ink). Suddenly, Rick’s silence turned into a symphony of rage, a one-man opera of entitlement that would’ve made P.T. Barnum jealous. “You’re holding my data hostage!” he screeched, as if I’d locked his Spotify playlist in a dungeon. Bro, it’s called “terms of service.” Read them.
4. Hostility Unleashed
Instead of a check, I got a novel. Rick’s email was a 1,200-word manifesto that read like it was ghostwritten by a scorned Victorian poet:
“You are a TERRIBLE PERSON. Your business will FAIL. You are a MEAN-SPIRITED TWERP. I will be filing with the BBB and hiring a LAWYER.”
A twerp? A fucking twerp? Who hurt you, Rick? Was it the 90s? Your flip phone? The fact that “bureaucratic bullshit” is just me asking for the $600 you owe? I’ve been called worse, but damn, that one stung—like being slapped with a thesaurus by a man who still uses Yahoo Answers.
His threats were emptier than his payment history. The BBB? They laughed. His lawyer? Probably a cousin who flunked out of law school. But Rick wasn’t done—he had a bigger stage in mind.
5. The Review Heard Round the World (or at Least Google)
After five years of me pulling technical miracles out of my ass for pennies, Rick took his rage to Google Reviews, dropping a 500-word opus that made War and Peace look concise. Here’s the highlight reel:
“This VICIOUS, SHALLOW, MEAN-SPIRITED TWERP ruined my life! I pity his clients and his NICE PARENTS. His refusal to provide value (read: work for free forever) is a disgrace. I’m DISAPPOINTED.”
Disappointed? I’m disappointed you think “value” means me wiping your digital ass for a decade. The “nice parents” jab was a nice touch, though—real classy, Rick. The review sat there like a turd in a punchbowl, sandwiched between five-star raves from clients who actually paid. The algorithm smirked, knowing Rick’s meltdown was just free marketing for me.
Who writes this shit? The same guy who signs emails “Sent from my iPad” like it’s a flex. Rick’s review wasn’t just a rant—it was a cry for help from a man whose ego was bigger than his bandwidth.
6. Collections and Consequences
Rick’s services? Suspended. His access? Blocked. His data? Secured tighter than Fort Knox—per the contract he signed but apparently used as kindling. The final invoice was a masterpiece: every overage, every breach, every “can you just” call itemized like a war crimes tribunal. Non-IT friends don’t get it, but in my world, that invoice was porn.
Collections is on his ass now, chasing him like a budget John Wick. Rick’s credit score is probably lower than his IQ, and I’m over here sipping whiskey, knowing my contract’s bulletproof. He can scream “twerp” all he wants—consequences don’t care about your feelings, buddy.
7. Lessons for the Next Poor Soul
If you’re an IT pro: Document every call, email, and sneeze. Stick to your contract like it’s the Bible. And know that some asshole will always call you a monster for doing exactly what you said you’d do. Backup your backups, and maybe your sanity, too.
If you’re a client reading this: “Mean-spirited twerp” isn’t protected speech. Try “thank you” next time you get five years of support for the price of a used Xbox. Pay your bill, hug your IT guy, and maybe don’t treat your tech like it’s your personal punching bag.
Outro: The War for My Sanity
Rick Entitled may have won the battle for Most Dramatic Email of 2025, but I won the war for my sanity. His Google Review is a badge of honor, a testament to the fact that I survived five years of his bullshit without snapping. Next time, my unsubscribe button’s gonna be a Rickroll and a survey: “Rate your experience, 1 to 5, or admit you’re Rick.”
To every IT warrior out there: Keep fighting the good fight. To every Rick: Pay your damn bill, or the only thing you’ll be streaming is regret.
18+ Section: The Only Thing Rick’s Never Turned On Is Common Sense (or, How to Get Fucked by Your Own Entitlement)
Rick wanted more hand-holding than a camgirl’s top subscriber. “FIX MY SHIT NOW!” he’d bellow, as if I’d personally coded his server to crash during his “private” late-night streams. Newsflash, Rick: Your cybersecurity’s getting railed harder than a VPN without two-factor authentication, and it’s not my fault you think “password123” is a personality trait.
Every ticket was a new fetish: “Why’s my cloud so HARD?” “I CAN’T FIND MY DICK—ETS!” (He meant tickets, but Freud’s cackling). I’d patch his system, reset his MFA, and pray he’d find a hobby that didn’t involve screaming at me like I stole his last Viagra. Rick’s the kind of client who’d jerk off to his own rage, then send you the bill. And honestly? I’d rather debug a haunted mainframe than deal with his digital diaper rash again.