Dear drunk guy who calls me,
A few months back I gave you my telephone number in an effort to help you through the computer issues you were having. Several minutes into the call we had worked out all your problems and spent the next 20 minutes having a nice chat about nothing. Fine. You seemed like a nice guy but this does not mean I want you calling me all the time. Let me rephrase that. I REALLY don’t want you ringing me at 3am when you’re drunk off your ass and need someone to talk to.
Look you wretched, intoxicated, phone calling, pig fucker. I don’t even know you. Your pathetic life stories are not interesting to me. I really do not have the time trying to decipher these miserable tales through the bubbling slurred clicks and pops you call speech. Let me give you a tip. Tomorrow when you get ready to leave your home on the way to the pub, unplug your telephone and take it with you. With any luck, after you get drunk enough, you’ll leave the telephone sitting in the puddle of your warm piss on the floor next to the urinal.
When you tell me stories about your fucked up love life, guess what? I DON’T FUCKING CARE! I don’t. I couldn’t give a shit. I don’t know you well enough to give a shit. But I will tell you this. Your wife didn’t leave you because she needs time to think. She left you because you are a pathetic drunk who calls people he barely knows at 3 in the fucking morning! Got it! The reason you don’t know where she is? So you don’t call her in a drunken stupor at 3am and talk about how bad your life is going!
NO! I don’t want to hear your cat meow on the phone. NO! I do not want to hear about how you woke up at noon and in a drunken hangover and spilled coffee in your television. NO! I don’t care about how your old boss is an such asshole because he fired you for calling in “sick” too many times. NO! NO! NO! And for the last time I really don’t want to hear the poem you just wrote.
And another thing. I don’t think it’s funny that you refer to yourself as a third person. In fact, I find it creepy. If there is another personality in that emotionally dysfunctional head of yours I implore you to let it take command of your body because ANYTHING has got to be better then the tedious mother fucker at the controls now. You know, now that I think about it, if you do have some sort of bizarre clinical mental disorders, there is a condition called catatonia. Do me a favour and aim for that instead.
Some people get drunk and become mean. Others get drunk and are really funny. You get drunk and are a fucking inebriated ignoramus who assumes everyone wants to hear you wallow in the tales of woe that are your shitty life. And what’s worse, you never remember telling me your shitty tales of woe so you repeat the same fucking stories to me next time you’ve had a few beers. It’s like that episode on the Twilight Zone only this time Talking Tina is intoxicated and calling at 10 cents a minute. Take the beer can away from your mouth, put the telephone down, walk into the bathroom, lift the toilet seat, and push your head as far into the bowl as you can. Once you think you can’t fit that big fat fucking head of yours in any further, push harder -then flush. If all goes well the top of your miserable skull will rip off and all the shit that lives inside your cranium will be on it’s way to the sewage plant where it belongs.
And now my inebriated little friend, I will let you in on my evil secret. You told me at 3:30am last Saturday about how you can’t find a job and have no money to pay bills. Of course you don’t remember that because you told me again the next time you called. But anyway, let’s see if you can guess the ONLY reason I continue to talk with you, the single reason. If you bother me so much when you call at 3am, why do I stay on the phone instead of just hanging up? Why is it I ask you to hang on while I’ll go fix a can of soup or go to the bathroom? How come last time you called I asked you to hold on, I set the phone down on the desk and went back to bed? Come on, I’ll bet you can guess this. No? Ok, I’ll tell you why. It’s long distance when you call me. You don’t have a job. One day your phone bill will arrive at your door and you won’t have the money to pay it. Not long after your phone will be disconnected and THEN YOU CAN’T GET DRUNK AND CALL ME AT 3 FUCKING AM IN THE MORNING!
And no, for the last time, you CAN NOT have my e-mail address.
