Hey, Philbert.
“Not my name, choad.”
Happy birthday, sir.
“Another year defeated.”
Defeated.
“Life’s a battle, monkeynuts. Just you versus Death, and I got that boney fucker’s balls in my teeth.”
One way to look at it.
“You wanna know what I do every morning?”
Sure.
“Me and Jill get up real early, throw Grahame out of bed, and we do our P90X.”
Grahame’s in the bed?
“He has nightmares a lot.”
Okay.
“Then one of the Busboys makes me my coffee and I walk out to the porch. Faces east. Faces the sun. And you know what I do?”
What?
“I show the sun my cock. Just so the yellow fucker knows I’m not scared of him.”
That’s very metal.
“I don’t need your approval.”
True.
CELL PHONE NOISE
…
CELL PHONE NOISE
…
CELL PHONE NOISE
You’re not gonna answer that?
“Fuck, no.”
What if it’s Jill?
“Then she’d call on the Jill Phone.”
Is that like the Bat Phone?
“Obviously, dullard.”
What if it’s Grahame?
“Grahame doesn’t have my phone number. He used to, but he would call a dozen times a day to tell me about about dogs he’d seen.”
CELL PHONE NOISE
Just answer it.
“It’s some dumbfuck who’s gonna say dumbfuck shit, isn’t it?”
…
…
…
Noooo.
“Ah, for Christ’s sake, I’ll answer it if it’ll shut you up.”
…
“Thank you for calling Terrapin Crossroads, home of the Ross James sandwich and Ross James. Out of caution, we have closed until April 2nd, but the gift shop is still open 24 hours a day. This is Phil.”
“Spicy Phil!”
“Don’t call me that.”
“So spicy. Love to give and take. Like Larry David, but with hair and no Jewish.”
“What do you want, lardass?”
“Worried about Spicy Phil. Want protect. I send bubble.”
“I don’t need a bubble.”
“Like Travolta. You go in bubble. Stay healthy.”
“Fuck off. I’m not going in any damn bubble.”
“Is top-quality bubble! Custom! Is no Walmart bubble!”
“I don’t give a shit if it’s bespoke. Keep your bubble.”
“Is done. Bubble send.”
“No bubble!”
“You bubble!”
“No bubble!”
“Is send!”
DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT
“Asshole!”
Me?
“I will send the Busboys to your house. In real life, not in here. Out there where you and your loved ones are. I will have you beaten if I have to talk to that ball-gargling pantload one more time.”
I understand.
“Do ya?”
Happy birthday, Phil.
“Thank you. Fuck off.”
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