Guess what? They are at it again. You know who I’m talkin’ about, don’t you?
That’s right, phone creatures.
Phone creatures, for you out there that haven’t been readin’ this junk I write for very long, is what I call those telemarketers. I know, they’re just tryin’ to do their job, but I have to do mine too, you know.
What’s my job, you ask? Well my job is to enjoy life to the fullest, and one of the things I enjoy the most is givin’ phone creatures a hard time.
Now, my wife Janet thinks this is crude and uncivilized. Well, maybe it is, but like Popeye said, “I yam what I yam.’’
Why just the other day the phone rang.
“Yellow,” I said. No one said anything.
“Yellow,” I said again. When you have to say it twice, it’s probably a phone creature.
“Mr. Mitchum?” the creature said.
“Yes,” I said in my old man’s voice, which is really not much different that my regular voice.
“Mr. Mitchum, this is Polly Hobbs calling….”
“Holly?” I interrupted.
“Polly!” she said a little louder
“Molly?” I said.
“POLLY!” she yelled.
“Oh,” I said. “What can I do for you Dolly?”
I heard a sigh on the other end of the phone. “Mr. Mitchum,” she said. “I am calling on behalf of J.C. Whitney.”
“Yes, J.C. Whitney. We buy stuff from Mr. Whitney all the time.”
“Good,” she said. “Then you know who we are.”
“Of course I have a car.”
“No!” she said loudly. “I said, you know who we are!”
“Sure, I know who you are. I bought my wife a little see-through nightie from y’all a couple of weeks ago.”
“A nightie?” she said. “Oh, you’re thinking about J.C. Penney’s.”
“Yep,” I said. “It was a dandy, too. Of course, the next week I had to buy her a housecoat to put over it, ‘cause the neighbors were complainin’ about her feedin’ the chickens in it.”
“No, Mr. Mitchum,” the creature said.
“Did so,” I said. “Buford Lemmons, next door, called and told me that if my wife wasn’t nekked, then whatever she was wearin’ sure needed ironin’.”
“Well, I told him them was fightin’ words, and he’d better take it back or I’d come over there and knock a knot on his head so tall that he’d have to stand on his tippy-toes to scratch it. Well, he told me that he wudn’t takin’ it back and if I didn’t put some clothes on her, he was callin’ the sheriff.”
“Mr. Mitchum,” she pleaded.
“Well, I didn’t need no more trouble with the law, so I bought her that house coat.”
“It’s a purdy one too,” I said. “It’s got great big flowers all over it.”
“Mr. Mitchum!” she yelled.
“Yes?” I said.
“J.C. WHITNEY!” she yelled. “I’M CALLIN’ FOR J.C. WHITNEY!”
“J.C.’s not here right now,” I said. “In fact, I ain’t seen him all day.”
Then, it got real quite like on the other end of the phone.
“Are you still there, Molly?” I asked.
After a long time, I heard another sigh. “Mr. Mitchum,” said the creature. “I want to thank you for your time.”
“No, I said. “We ain’t got no limes.”
“AAAAAAUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHH!” screamed the creature, and hung up.
I hung up the phone and chuckled. I felt the eyes of you know who, on my back. I turned and there she was; my wife Janet. She had an evil little smile on her face.
“You know,” she out loud to herself. “I’m pretty sure I would be never convicted.”