I hate the telephone. The damn thing rings and all I think is: “Who are you and what do you want?!” What you want is for me to answer. Well, forget it. If I wanted to talk to you, I’d be making the call - so knock it off.

I mean, just what makes you think I want to stop snacking, masturbating, sleeping, belittling idiots who can’t write cohesive message board postings, firing off hate mail to so-called political leaders, dodging process-servers pounding on the door of my soon to be repossessed apartment or whatever it is I’m doing that’s so much more entertaining than answering your unsolicited call? I don’t and I won’t. And you know it. Yet you insist on dialing my unlisted number for countless stupid and ire-inspiring reasons.

Always with the Hey-what-are-you-doing crappola. What the hell do you think I’m doing? I’m answering the phone, you moron. Or better yet, you ask Who’s-this? Look, Troglodyte, you called me. Figure it out. Or my all-time favorite: Hi-this-is-Lunkhead-McUnemployable-and-I’m-calling-from-MCI… No. I don’t want to change my long-distance telephone service. What I want is your head exploded. The sooner - the better.

I hate the telephone and I hate you. Stop calling.

Credits: H. Fillmore