Do Not Phone Me Before Sunrise Unless I Have Won a Major Award
Early this morning my friend Schaffer phoned me to ask for my phone number. "How did you call me just now if you don't have my phone number?!" I roared, and groped around in the dark for a beer bottle to shatter against the radiator. I couldn't find one. Schaffer quietly explained that my number was on speed dial and that the LCD was terminally horckled and that he couldn't read my number in order to transfer it to his new telephone. When I asked him what "terminally horckled" meant, he mewled and equivocated and cleared his throat, so I assumed it all had to do with his ridiculous wife, who was probably lording over him right at that moment, scowling and breathing on his bald spot from above like some sort of haggard tree reptile. I gave him the number to Dominoes Pizza and went back to bed.