Pi

6.2.2k2


Well I don’t know about you but I can spot them telemarketers and junk phonecall jocks a mile away these days and I ain’t relying on no fancy-ass caller ID-type boxes, gadgets or displays to do it. Nope. I do the old fashioned “wait for the pause,” and if there is a pause after you pick up the ringing handset and say something like “Uh, hullo” then you slam that sucker back down onto the receiver or like me you emphatically push the “end” button over and over until the handset thinks you’ve lost motor faculty and starts wailing a pitiful “beep beep beep beep.” Don’t even give those punks a chance to take the call over from their computer. After all, it is the computer that’s calling. It likely places one million calls at the same time on the chance there’s some boob gonna pick up. When boob does, HAL pokes the punk in the ass, probably with a mild electric shock, and says in that voice, “Someone has picked up the phone; now enabling audio channels. You are on the air.” That’s the pause. It takes precisely 3.4 seconds for the computer to say those sentences, shock the punk, and enable the punk’s mic. That’s how long it takes me to flush the call.

Or not, sometimes. Like the other day. I answered the phone in a funny voice; a labored, sort-of Mexican accent through clenched teeth. “Bueno,” I said in that voice. Then the pause. I was game for a change. 3.2, 3.3, 3.4: “Hullo. May I speak to Jish Joston?” said the punk. “Bueno?” I said again.
“Yes, uh, Jish Joss-ton?”
“No. Momentitty.” I said and waited 3.4 seconds. “Bulla?” (This time it was a kind of Apu. Retarded Apu.) “Bulla?”
“Is this Jish Jos ... Joss-ton”
“Yub. Dissis Dosh Doshdon.”
“Yeh, uh, ‘hullo Miss Joss-ton, Um calling for Discover Card ...“
I angrily interrupt: “Bissus? Youb calla be Bissus? Lookit her! I dotta Bissus youb!”
The punk freaked. “Oh, I’m sorry! Uh ... ‘hullo MISTER Joss-ton, I’m calling for Discover Card ...”
Again I interrupt, as I’ve had about enough: “Yes, okay. I hab the cod. I hab the cod. Thank youb! Yes.”
The punk says, “No, uh, I know you have the card, Miss, uh, MISTER Joss-ton, we just wanna, uh, give you ...”
“Yes. Thank youb. I hab the cod. I hab the cod. Thank you. Yes, okay.” Then I hung up. It seemed I was about to be in it for a haul, and I wasn’t that bored.

Please come celebrate Founding Member Alan J. Chimenti’s birthday where he was born: Lutheran General, South City

News: Thanks to Venue Announcement pinch-hitter Mossy! Impressive work, Miss ... uh, MISTERS! (That Japanese cock-Flash thing was weird and disturbing.)

Porn Title of the Week: City of Anals

Tonight’s Singled-Out List Member: Mo!

Yeh. See you tonight. I feel nice. bye-ee!