I challenge you to find a euphoria greater than the one that immediately proceeds successfully fighting your bank on an overdraft fee. That $35 lands back in your account like warm cocoa cascading down an icy winter’s throat chaffed with the bitter winds and sharp daggers of arctic chaos. Huh? That’s nonsense. I’m clearly still delirious with the ecstasy. Especially since the overdraft was for a charge of FIFTEEN EFFING CENTS. And, let’s be serious, Bank of America (and any bank really) isn’t in a position to be pissing off customers these days.

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