Thursday, August 28, 2008

who calls at this ungodly hour?

12:09 AM.

So I'm sitting at my desk working on a fantastic piece of fiction, a stunning literary achievement just waiting to happen, when, at exactly midnight, my friggin' cell phone starts ringing.

It's a business line really, and I look at the little screen and it says RESTRICTED. Restricted? WTF does that mean anyway? Why do they even allow that shit? So it rings and rings, and I let it ring and ring because there's no way in hell I'm going to pick up a RESTRICTED call at midnight. Who knows what whack-job is on the other end? Why would anyone use a RESTRICTED number, unless they are up to no good. It was EXACTLY midnight. Who was calling me? A mass murderer?

"I’m in your house."

A crazy ex-girlfriend?

"I had your love-child! He's twenty-one and he wants to meet you!"


"This is the NSA, what the hell are you up to?"

So I let it ring. And it stops ringing, missed call. No voicemail.

Then, at 12:02, it rings again! Oh my GOD!

"This is Elvis, I need your help on a very important mission. President Nixon specified you by name . . ."

Who calls at this ungodly hour? Charles Mansion? Does he get phone privileges?

Then again, maybe someone was just having wicked-bad computer problems.

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I am the author of 8 books: Android Down, Firewood for Cannibals, Brain Giblets, The Cubicles of Madness, Booze and News, Get Your Zen On, Zen Happens, and most recently, Robot Stories. I live and write in Michigan. My website is at

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