Things can get ugly when you finally get out of prison

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I got home the other night and man, I was pooped. I plopped down in my easy chair, and low and behold, the blame phone started ringin’. My wife Janet is like a cop; she ain’t never around when you need her, so I had to get up and get the phone.

“Yellow,” I said into the receiver, but no one said anything back. “Yellow!” I said louder. Then I heard that slight little click, and I knew I had a Phone Creature on the line.

For you out there who haven’t been readin’ this junk I write for long might not know what a Phone Creature is. A Phone Creature is what I call those telemarketers. You know, the ones that call durin’ supper, or when a good show is on TV. Janet will talk to them and be nice and all of that, but I’d rather have some fun with ‘em.

“Mr. Mitchum?” the Creature asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“This is Will Hampton from MCI,” he said, but I interrupted him.

“MCI?” I questioned. Oh! Maryland Correctional Institute. Will! Man, when did you git out? I thought you wuz in for another five years.”

“Uh, no Mr. Mitchum,” it said.

“Well good. I’m glad you’re out. But call me Uncle Rusty, like you did in the joint. Man, it’s good to hear from you. Tell me how wuz it in there. They tell me it’s a lot different since I’ve been in.”

“You don’t understand,” the Creature said.

“How, can I not understand if you haven’t told me yet? By the way, did you get any letters from any women while you wuz in there. You know, those women that fall for prisoners.”

“No, you don’t…..”

“You didn’t, huh. Man, I sure did. There wuz this one ol’ gal who kept writin’ me and tellin’ me all sorts of stuff and wanted to get together with me when they sprung me, and junk like that. Man, I couldn’t wait to git out and see her.”

“Mr. Mitchum,” the Creature pleaded.

“Uncle Rusty,” I said. “I told you to call me Uncle Rusty. Don’t let me tell you again. Anywho, when I finally got out, I headed straight to the address on the letters that gal had sent me. I bet I had to hitch a hunnerd rides to get where she lived. I walked up to the door of this big ol’ house, and rang the bell. I wuz really nervous and nearly ran off, when the door opened. There standin’ at the door wuz the most beautiful thang I’d ever seen.”

“Berlinder?’ I asked.

“Who?” she asked back. “Oh, you want Belinda.”

“You’re not her?”

“Oh no. Hold on,” and she turned. “Belinda!” she called out.

“What?” came a voice from inside the house.

“Someone here to see you,” she said, and then turned back to me. “She will be right out.

“In just a minute, out walked the meanest lookin’ woman you ever seen. She had this big ol’ thang hangin’ off the side of her neck, and if she had a tooth in her head, I couldn’t see it. In her right hand wuz an iron, and in her left hand wuz a can of spray starch. She had her finger on the button of the starch, like she wuz fixin’ to use it on me.

“What do you want?” she growled.

“You Berlinder?” I asked. Berlinder Spunkmeyer?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m Rusty,” I said. “You know, from prison.”

“Well, boy howdy, she throwed down that iron, and that can of spray starch, and hugged me like I ain’t never been hugged. It wouldn’t have been so bad if that thang on her neck wudn’t crammed up against my face.”

“You are kidding, right?” the Creature said.

“Kiddin’? Naw, I ain’t kiddin’. She latched on to me like a tick. I couldn’t git away. She picked me up, dragged me back in the house and introduced me to the people she wuz doin’ the ironin’ for. It wuz a nightmare.”

I quit talkin’ and after a few seconds, the Creature spoke up. “Well,” he said. “How did you get away?”

“Git away?” I said. “Heck, I ended up marryin’ her. And she gets meaner and uglier every day. When you come over, I’ll introduce you to her. You can call her Aunt Berlinder. She’ll like that. But don’t say nothin’ about that thang on her neck. She’s kinda sensitive about it.”

“You bet,” said the Creature. “I’ll do just that. So, I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Good deal, Will,” I said. “Hey, I made a rhyme!”

“Uh, yeah. Goodbye,” and he hung up.

“Heh, heh,” I laughed as I hung up the phone. I turned around, and you guessed it. There was Janet, with that look on her face. If you’ve been married any length of time at all, you know what look I mean.

“Meaner and uglier every day?” she asked.

“I wasn’t talkin’ about you, Sugar Booger. Hey, what’cha doin’ with that iron in your hand?”

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