16
Nov
11

we’re not going anywhere until you huff all that paint, son

Hello, is this Herb Djukanovic and Sons Heating and Air Conditioning Service? Well, Gary, for the purposes of this phone call, can it be? For fuck’s sake, we’ve gotta get this prank phone call rehearsed, recorded, edited, and mixed for a segment on tomorrow’s show and I have a meeting with my probation officer at 2 that I have to be on time to, so get with the goddamn program, because I gotta make sure this thing comes off as hilarious as I wrote it. Okay, dry run, take two. Oh come on, Gary, don’t look at the caller ID, just pick it up. Hello, is this Herb Djukanovic and Sons Heating and Air Conditioning Service? Well, one of your service technicians just left my house, and his professionalism left quite a bit to be desired. Gary, are you listening to me or looking at that swimsuit calendar from 1994? Come on, buddy, I need you here. Okay, we’ll pick up at “his professionalism left quite a bit to be desired.” Can you think of a better way to phrase that, Gary? Never mind, we’ll rewrite it before we do the real call. Okay, ask me what my complaint is. Because you’re helping me rehearse, Gary- where have you been this whole time? Okay, ahem, the guy knocked on our door, then without even getting his tools out or asking about our hot water heater, pulled out a knife and ordered all of us to the kitchen and made us get on our knees while he bound our hands behind our backs. Jesus, Buddha, and Allah, Gary- is this the time to be looking at that fucking delivery menu right now? I’m just getting to the good part, and you are fucking this up for both of us. Look, Gary, this may be a shitty job, but I need it. I’m upside down on my mortgage and that private detective Brenda hired finally tracked me down and is leaning on me for several years of back child support. Uh, chicken salad on wheat toast and a Doctor Brown’s Black Cherry, by the way. This is the place that puts grapes and walnuts in their chicken salad, right? So sophisticated! Okay, so getting back on track: once my hands were tied, he pressed the cold metal of his knife against my index finger, threatening to cut it off unless I told him where we kept our valuables. I tried hard not to tremble as I felt a single drop of blood roll down my finger and pool in the palm of my hand, then he suddenly changed his question. My wife’s eyes met mine, her image distorting as my tears amassed, and our captor demanded I name the artist on this track. Oh, fuck me, Gary. You were supposed to have cued up that clip of “Never Been Any Reason,” by Head East before we fucking started. Will you get your head in the game? Okay, forget it, let’s just call Waynelle’s Country Grocery again. But this is the last time, Gary; I think they’re starting to catch on.

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