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The Phone Call by Ray Printer Friendly

So I’m hanging out last night, writing, whatever. I had actually almost decided to go to bed when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“I can’t believe you answered your phone!” A drunken voice yells to me.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Answer your phone!”

Ah. One of these nights. I hear party noises in the background. I open my brand new bottle of whiskey and take a swallow. You can’t be a part of this and stay sober. It’s some sort of law or something. Maybe more of a tradition, I suppose, but tradition among friends is stronger than law, anyways.

I wake up this morning, I’ve got a wicked headache, my throat’s all dry, and my mouth tastes like some sort of rotting something. I stagger out for a glass of water and to start the coffee, and I remember typing. Random bits and pieces of random conversations, typed as quickly as possible, no real thread at all. Typing as much as I can, which really wasn’t that much, considering that by the time I got to this idea, I was pretty well into my bottle.

I pulled up the file this morning, deciphered all the typos, and looked at what I had left. It’s pretty frightening, and the randomness of it makes it even more bizarre. I take a little comfort knowing that almost none of these quotes are mine.

Here:

.

.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“This is Clara.”

“Hi, Clara. I’m Ray.”

“I don’t know you, but I feel like I know you, you know?”

“Ah.”

“I thought your voice would be deeper.”

“Yeah, sorry about my voice.”

“No, it’s okay. I just…you know, thought it would be deeper.”

“Me, too. It just peaked, leaving me with this.”

“It’s okay.”

“Good.”

.

“Yeah, I guess I’m like part of the family. I was kind of adopted. I gave ‘em food. I was the one that waited on them when they came in, because no one else wanted to.” (About five minutes of me laughing) “Did that sound bad?”

.

How many people am I destined to know that manage Sonic?

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(This next part, it’s all one person talking—she was acting out a scene. I was just laughing, except for the part about holding the onions.)

What if Jesus worked at Sonic? He’d be all, “Hey, welcome to Sonic, my name is Jesus, how can I help you?”

“Oh, dear Lord, please grant me a Number 2 combo. ”

“And could you hold the onions? (that was me)

“I would like a number 2 with mayonnaise, o please, but could you hold the onions?”

“No. No, I can’t hold the onion. I’m only the SON OF GOD! I think I can manage to hold the onions!”

.

“Is mom there?”

.

“What do you think Hell’s like?”

“For you? For you, Hell is being ass-raped by that clown from It, and he’s using a broken glass dildo.”

“That sucks!”

.

“Are you gonna post this?”

“How could I not?”

.

“We will go to Sonic and pray for you.”

“Dear God PLEASE MAKE THIS Number 2.”

.

“How drunk are you?”

“Very.”

“Good thing I caught you in time. You were almost not drunk.”

.

“Don’t be so desperate, or you’re just asking to be a sperm toilet.”

(To someone in the background) “He says not to be so desperate, or you’re just asking to be a…to be a what?”

“I think I said sperm toilet.”

“Huh. Don’t be so desperate, or you’re just asking to be a sperm toilet.”

.

“We’re mostly straight.”

“At least half of you there are gay.”

“Not that kind of straight.”

“Ah.”

.

“I laughed so hard that I peed a little bit, you know?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Clara says twice. She says I did it twice. Because I did it twice.”

.

“It’s always the same: he lifts his shirt, rubs his belly, I’m like, put that thing away.”

.

“I must be in hell…being ass fucked by the clown from It.”

.

“Did you ever see him grab his liver?”

.

“We did share some of the shots, but he drinks vodka. That’s why I spent five minutes trying to decide if I wanted to pee in a tattoo parlor or not.”

.

On susceptibility to conversion: “I’ll probably be a Catholic tomorrow, I won’t have any idea.”

.

“Two people are Catholics.”

“Tell those bastards to straighten up.”

“I don’t think that I will tell them that.”

.

“Fuckin’ children. They’re the devils.”

“They are. They are the devils. And sometimes they smell bad.”

.

“I drank a half of a bottle of twadka? Hang on, gotta take this shot.”

(background) “Whoo hoo! Whoo hoo for you! Whoo hoo again!”

.

“Broken dildo assclown.”

.

“Volcom-punk skater….vee, oh, ell, see, oh, em…that’s the tattoo on his ass, and he’s got a belt and a hat, and he matches.”

.

“The internet ass guy. That’s you.”

.

.

It probably would have gone on longer, but the cell phone battery was rapidly running out. I was promised pictures, but I doubt it’ll happen. I’m sure that whipping out the camera phones seemed like a great idea at the time, but when everyone sobers up, the only thing those pictures will be good for is blackmail.

.

For soul purposes, the part of Rik is being played by some weight-lifting guy I saw on the internet.


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