Lou Who 1½: Rut
Lou Who 1½: Rut
AKA Lou & ½
It's half a sequel to something I wrote for fun
———–—
"HELLA!"
"....hello, this is a recorded call from Blythe Channel Fundhaving Media," I said, wincing from the loudness of the person I called, "My name is Lou. How are you doing today?"
"IS THIS OBAMA!"
"Uh...no, sir. I'm Lou."
"LOU WHO?"
"Lou---"
"SHAT THE FACK UP DALLY!! I'M ON DA GADDAM PHONE!! Sarry. Them's my wife. My names Jiggy. That's J as in Jenkins, I as in Adigitness," the man said before I hung up and started massaging my temples. I crave a cigarette so bad right now, but I'm on the clock and just got back from my second break ten minutes ago. If any employee takes a third in one shift, the manager would stuff himself inside his office iron maiden, something he made a point of showing when he got it a month ago. Besides, what I crave even more is sleep. The Trazodone Dr. Stone prescribed was supposed to help with that but much like the drug he prescribed for my hallucinations, it isn't working. I don't sleep enough.
Taking a deep breath, I pick up the phone and dial yet another household.
"Please enjoy the music as your party is being reached," came an answer before the line switched to music I can only succinctly describe as sounding like utter ASS. Not utter butt, keister, behind, buttocks, patootie, Banjo & Kazooie or Charlie Brown and the Lucy Two. ASS. I groaned loud enough for co-workers to pop out of their cubicles and watch me sprawl out on my chair in despair. Two minutes later, someone answers the phone.
"How ya do," came a nasal, nerdly response.
"Good evening, ma'am. I'm calling on behalf of Blythe Channel Fundhaving Media, seller of things you can't find anywhere else. To ensure quality, this call is being recorded. My name is Lou. How are you today?"
"Well...I went outside for a minute, I saw...a FANTASTIC bird peckin' at a booby I dug up outta the ground. You can't get any better than freshass and goodass boobayy. You be the judge on how I'm doin' today."
AKA Lou & ½
It's half a sequel to something I wrote for fun
———–—
"HELLA!"
"....hello, this is a recorded call from Blythe Channel Fundhaving Media," I said, wincing from the loudness of the person I called, "My name is Lou. How are you doing today?"
"IS THIS OBAMA!"
"Uh...no, sir. I'm Lou."
"LOU WHO?"
"Lou---"
"SHAT THE FACK UP DALLY!! I'M ON DA GADDAM PHONE!! Sarry. Them's my wife. My names Jiggy. That's J as in Jenkins, I as in Adigitness," the man said before I hung up and started massaging my temples. I crave a cigarette so bad right now, but I'm on the clock and just got back from my second break ten minutes ago. If any employee takes a third in one shift, the manager would stuff himself inside his office iron maiden, something he made a point of showing when he got it a month ago. Besides, what I crave even more is sleep. The Trazodone Dr. Stone prescribed was supposed to help with that but much like the drug he prescribed for my hallucinations, it isn't working. I don't sleep enough.
Taking a deep breath, I pick up the phone and dial yet another household.
"Please enjoy the music as your party is being reached," came an answer before the line switched to music I can only succinctly describe as sounding like utter ASS. Not utter butt, keister, behind, buttocks, patootie, Banjo & Kazooie or Charlie Brown and the Lucy Two. ASS. I groaned loud enough for co-workers to pop out of their cubicles and watch me sprawl out on my chair in despair. Two minutes later, someone answers the phone.
"How ya do," came a nasal, nerdly response.
"Good evening, ma'am. I'm calling on behalf of Blythe Channel Fundhaving Media, seller of things you can't find anywhere else. To ensure quality, this call is being recorded. My name is Lou. How are you today?"
"Well...I went outside for a minute, I saw...a FANTASTIC bird peckin' at a booby I dug up outta the ground. You can't get any better than freshass and goodass boobayy. You be the judge on how I'm doin' today."
".....You sound like just the type that needs both relaxation and a little stimulation and I think you'll appreciate the recommendation I have for you: A Warren G. Harding dildo. A pure work of art, it's a shaft painstakingly-carved in the likeness of the 29th President himself and-- trust me-- he'll Dome the hell out of your Teapot. ......hello?"
>>>>>
"No ma'am, we did not send you a lamp that is somehow also a CRT monitor by mistake, it's what you ordered. You specifically requested a floor lamp with the monitor 'tinky winky styled' into it. I have the receipt right h...oh. I see. No, he's good for it, I know. Just send it back and we'll give you a better one at no charge. No, he doesn't need to be on the ph--- ah, jeez..
...hi Zeus. ....i'm good. Are you still a god?"
>>>>>
"No sir, we no longer carry Bubble Tape. Never again."
>>>>>
"Ma'am, our silverware is ridiculous. Here at Blythe, we strive for greatness but not in our silverware. Were you buying it for your kin or kith? With every purchase of our shitty utensils comes a 20 percent discount for any Desert Eagle pistol that we have in stock. I know you must be confused, ma'am: I certainly am. Would you mind holding for the next representative? I have to scream now."
>>>>>
"Sir, that catalog has since been updated. At no point have we ever sold Pokémon balls. I don't dare to think about how one removes them."
>>>>>
"I'm sorry but once your belly rub is complete there are no refunds. I'm aware that you're a catboy; there are still no refunds."
>>>>>
"I do indeed love screaming into a ball gag while washing dishes with scalding hot water as much as you do, sir, but you still haven't told me what's wrong with your Elvis microwave. That's guaranteed to last for 20 years before it dies for good. ...it only operates when minors touch it. Yeah, that IS a problem. Lemme redirect you to the proper channels."
Click. If an Elvis microwave was greenlit by Blythe, just imagine how far Dealy Dan's idea for a waffle phone would go.
>>>>>
"Blythe CFM does not own Waffle Phones, sir..."
>>>>>
"Stop using my company to sell Waffled Cat. It's bad enough you tried it with Waffle Phones but I'm going to kick your ass if I get fired over Waffled fucking Cat. Also, what the FUCK is wrong with you?," I spat into a pay phone during break.
"ReLAX," Dan assured me, "they're not ACTUAL cats. They're mostly roadkill, shit like raccoons, deer and maybe the occasional dog. Besides, I'd be more worried about who's buying Waffled Cat."
"No one is!! Again, what the fuck's wrong with you?"
"Oh, hold up. There's a fight happening right now in front of me and I gotta hook up with whoever wins. I'll catch you later."
"Eat a dick."
Click.
>>>>>
"I don't know how many fingers you have up, Mrs. Haversham. I can't s-- two, you said. They're both your midd-- yeah, of course they are. Why wouldn't they be. Do I need to come into your assisted living facility dressed like the grim reaper? Must I be the reminder that death is three doors down? This is the 8th time you've called. Tell me something: d o y o u
h e a r b u m p s i n th--- and of course you hang up on me. Be hearing from you soon, Oldie."
>>>>>
"Sir, I don't want to know where your E.T. massager decided to phone home. There's no refunds for items damaged through misuse."
>>>>>
"No, ma'am, our Elvis microwaves do not come with an SD card. It's a microwave. ....sure thing."
Click. I pulled the headset off my head and tossed it onto the desk before getting up to go to the bathroom for 30 minutes or whatever. I tried falling asleep sitting on a toilet but failed. I don't get enough sleep.
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