The demise of the obscene call

“Guess what I have in my hand.”
“I have no idea,” said a sleepy me answering the phone at 2 a.m.
“Twelve inches of [beep],” said a throaty voice on the other end.
“I don’t believe you,” said a now wide-awake me.

PAUSE

“Well, uh, would ya settle for six?”
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That happened my senior year in high school and it still cracks me up completely.

Here’s hoping that my sleepy incredulity/cruel giggles combo cured that creep of his craving for calling chicks in the middle of the night.
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“What color underwear do you have on?”
“Well, they’re mostly brown because I just crapped my pants,” replied me, a sadly seasoned veteran of the obscene call by the ripe age of 22.
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What ever happened to the obscene phone call?

“Caller ID,” said Jim, yesterday during our morning trip to the train station.

Sure, caller ID seriously wounded the obscene call, but I think the Internet finally killed it.

Thanks to the world wide web, men can find scads of willing women to talk with them about their 12 or would-ya-believe 6 inches of whatever.

And it’s not just talk either, it’s video. You can find chicks willing to let you watch them fellate a goat whilst playing the fiddle.

Well, maybe the fiddle part is a stretch, but isn’t it just a tiny bit pathetic that every twisted form of sexual fetish is so readily available now that someone like me is REMINISCING about the days of the OBSCENE PHONE CALL?
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I think my Mom is right. The world really is coming to an end.

“And lo, the sixth seal was opened and the whore of Babylon, accompanied by her Trusty Goat Fred, played fiddle-dee-dee while Jesus wept.”
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I am listening to: Poison - Talk Dirty to Me
I am reading: Obi Wan Obama
And I am: Silly