Sunday, June 15, 2008


Or The Call:
"Ring ring ring," hmmm an unknown number, could be that offer to play point guard for the Celtics I've been waiting for or that call from Mastercard asking me if I approved the rental of “The Fuck It List” on my account. . . . or more than likely it’s the doctor calling to tell me I should really think about wearing condoms next time I go to Southeast, Asia. What the hell pick it up, live a little; the cookie you ate last night told you to take more chances. . . . . in bed!!! (haha, that game you know, fortune cookies, sex. . . humor is wasted on you).

“Hello,” nothing, "Helloo?” breathing, “Hello, Yellowwww. . . . yellow card," breathing “Holaa, como estas es esta una llamada de broma?” nothing “Hell hoe, hellooooo, elbow, hi, hiya there, goodentaug. . . . ok I’m going to hang up now.” And then a voice that sounds little older than a fetus, excited like mom just bought an ice cream cone for the whole soccer team, like its Sunday and we’re going to Chuck E Cheese; “Hewwo. . .. . .hi dis is Costa, Costa Smith, happy fawder's day” Hmmm how many kids have this number, besides the ones trapped in the basement I keep for creative inspiration?

“Hello there kid, thanks for the call, do I know you?” Is this some kind of miserable right wing charitable service call to encourage all those sperm bank fathers to keep better track of their seed? Is this just a nice little kid using the numbers from his chocolate stained sudoku book to call random’s with this happy sentiment?

“Yea dis is Costa. . . what are you doing?”, “No no this is Costa, Costa is my last name. . . who is this?” God this is getting creepy; here come the death threats and the grumblings of REDRUM from the back of his throat, please God don’t let this demon child have my address.

“I just got back from the park wid mommy and gramma, we took grampa for dinner and then to see Kung Fu Panda for fathers day.” “That sounds like a nice day, Costa, it’s Costa right? Your grandfather probably would have been happy with a bottle of scotch and a piss that didn’t interrupt him in the middle of the night, but a solid day I’d say. Why did you call me though, should I know you. . .are we related, like a little cousin I forgot about?” Maybe he’s harmless; he could be one of those invasive lonely conversationalists that shares too much. You know the woman or man who scrolls through the phone book to let you know that they tried suicide two days ago but their razor was dull; Or that they just bought a new Magic Bullet from QVC and the peanut butter shakes are amazing; kinda like mom when she felt the need to tell everyone about the divorce- the worst was when she made the Payless clerk cry.

“Well Mommy said for my 5th birfday, I could tawk to my daddy. . . so I waited for fawders day because my birfday is the 3rd of June and I got a new math game for the compuder and my daddy’s phone numba and a picture of him, and a whistle for swim pwactice and a cap gun, and thwee magic books, and the Back to da Future box set.” Damn, this kids cool, a little long winded and dillusional but surely a winner among the list of shithead kids polluting this world.

“That’s awesome Costa, great story, great gifts. . .great. . .just great, listen I have to go though, it was nice speaking; you should call that old man of yours and tell him all this.” Please just hang up, if I was 15 years younger I would invite you over to my birthday and you could invite me over to your house for a swim and tell me your mom likes it when you and your friends go swimming naked; and then we would take our bathing suits off and your mom could take pictures and ten years down the line get arrested for kiddie porn, and we could bond about it years later over beers after college graduation. But it's not in the cards and I gotta go.

“But that’s what I’m doing daddy, I’m calling my daddy on fawders day. Mommy said to say tequila, donkey show, Mexico and the day after pill that she didn’t take and you would remember. Happy Fawders Day.”



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