By any measure, it must be a sickness


Guess what? I got a call from another phone creature, the other day. My wife Janet and I were watchin’ TV the other night when the phone rang.

“Mr. Mitchum?” the female creature asked.

“Speakin’,” I replied.

“How are you doing today Mr. Mitchum?”

“Not so good,” I said.

“I’m sorry to hear that. The reason I’m calling….”

“Don’t you want to hear why I’m not doin’ so good?”

“Well…uh…OK…I’m sorry, why are you not doing well?”

“Well, it’s ‘cause everything has gone wrong today, that’s why.”

“Uh, OK,” said the creature.

“At breakfast,” I said, “I pulled my last egg out of the ice box, broke it over my fryin’ pan, and a baby chick fell out.”

“Oh my!” said the creature.

“Yeah, and I was real hungry, too.”

“That’s too bad. I guess you threw it away.”

“No, I ate it.”

“You didn’t,” she said.

“Sure I did. I told you I was hungry, didn’t I?”

“Well yes, but…”

“Have you ever plucked a little bitty chick? It ain’t as easy as you’d think.”

“I guess not,” she said. “Uh, Mr. Mitchum.”

“Then came lunch,” I interrupted. “I couldn’t git the viennies out of the can.”

“The what?”

“Viennies. You know, Vienny sausages.”

“Oh, Vienna,”

“That’s what I said, Viennies. Them thangs swell up in the can, and you can’t dig ’em out without bustin’ ‘em. I don’t like to bust ’em. It makes ‘em lose there flavor, when you bust ‘em.

“Anywho, I tried every way in the book to get ‘em out. I shook ‘em, and I slammed them down on the counter, but they was stubborn little boogers. I finally went out in the garage and got my tin snips and cut away the can.”

“That’s nice,” said the creature. “The reason I’m calling, is to let you know…”

“Well,” I interrupted again, “when I peeled the can back so’s I could git to the Viennies, I sliced a hunk of meat the size of a silver dollar off of the palm of my hand.”

“Oh my!” said the creature.

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I didn’t have no Band-Aids big enough to patch it up, so I pulled out the Super Glue.”

“Super Glue?”

“Yeah, Super Glue. I grabbed the piece of meat that I had sliced off and slathered it down with glue. Then I wiped off my bloody hand on my blue jeans and slapped that flap back on.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Naw, I ain’t kiddin’. You think a man would kid about somethin’ like that?

“Anywho, I was real careful about linin’ up the lines and the prints so’s it‘d look right, and then I pushed down, until the glue oozed out around the edges. Then the phone rang.” Then I quit talkin’.

“Well,” the creature said. “What happened?”

“Well, I answered it,” I said, “and it was you. Unfortunately, I answered it with my hurt hand, and now my hand is glued to the phone receiver.”

“Oh my!” That’s terrible.”

“If you think that’s bad, the phone cord ain’t long enough for me to reach my Vienny sausages, and I’m real hungry.”

About then, Janet left the room. There was a pause on the other end of the phone.

“Wait a minute, said the creature. “You are making this up.”

Makin’ it up?” I said. “What kind of sick person do you think I am any way?” Just as I said that, I heard the phone receiver in the other room pick up.

“Let me tell you what kind of sick person he is,” said Janet from the extension.”

“Don’t pay no attention to her,” I said. “She’s still mad cause I ate that little chick this mornin’ and didn’t save any for her.”

“That’s it,” said the creature. “You people are crazy,” and she hung up.

“Well,” said Janet through the phone to me.”

“Well what?” I asked.

“Well, what do you have to say?”

I thought for a minute, and then started breathin’ heavily into the phone. Then in a low voice I said, “What’cha wearin’ there, Sweet Thang?”

“She was right,” Janet said. “You are sick,” and she slammed down the phone.

“Heh heh,” I hehhed, as I hung up.

You know, sick has always worked for me.


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