| Here’s another bunch of genetic defectives who have been turned loose on answering machines. |
| These guys who cannot resist the urge to put music on their outgoing message. |
| You know some guy spends $8 in Radio Shack and suddenly he’s a fucking record producer. |
| And because he’s busy in the basement jacking off his dog I have to listen to substandard music. |
| And it’s always rotten music you know. |
| It’s either new age that pointless meandering zombie noise played by pseudo spiritual lunatics who think wind chimes are a musical instrument. |
| Or else it’s soft rock. |
| Soft rock. |
| That lame ass weak non threatening suburban white boy junk played by bands like Men Without Testicles. |
| Oh. |
| And folks. |
| On these answering machines do me a favor. |
| Would you please. |
| When you record your outgoing message don’t bother telling me you can’t come to the phone. |
| I understand that. |
| Apparently that’s why we have these machines. |
| And don’t tell me leave my name and number somehow. |
| I figured that out. |
| And if you work in an office. |
| Never mind that stuff. |
| I’m away from my desk. |
| If you had to take a shit say so. |
| Just say hi this is Mary Louise I had the Mexican Jalapeno bean chile dip and I washed it down with a gallon of gin. |
| I’ll be in and out all day. |