All he’s missing is a monkey. He’s got everything else he could possibly need to be a successful organ grinder. He’s got style, he’s got grace, he’s got a very grating song that goes on for too long — he’s got it all. If his monkey carried around a little cup, wore a tiny vest and fez, and existed, this fellow would already be part of the Organ Grinder Hall of Fame. He’d be the only person in the Organ Grinder Hall of Fame, but it’s something to hang your hat on.
An American director was filming a documentary in the Scottish Highlands when an old Scotch seer came walking up to the crew and said, “Tomorrow rain.” then hobbled off. Sure enough, it rained the very next day. A few days later he hobbled past again and said, “Tomorrow sunshine.” His prediction held true again and it was a beautiful sunny day. The director was very impressed with the old man and hired him to forecast the weather. Every day the wise old sage would hobble onto set and predict the weather accurately, but after a couple of weeks the old man didn’t show up. Concerned, the director went to the old man’s shack at the edge of a nearby glen and asked, “Hey, we need your predictions so we can plan our shoot today, why didn’t you come on set?”
“Radio broken.” the old man replied.
The UFO guy is my hero. Not for any of the obvious reasons — I just kind of like him. He’s a bit “off,” and he’s not afraid to show it. That’s a quality I admire in people. I know a fellow who looks a bit like UFO guy and talks a bit like UFO guy. He’s a barrel of monkeys by all accounts, and he’s a very good friend of mine. It’s my considered opinion that everyone should have a UFO friend. If the greys ever invade you want a long-haired psycho on your side who’ll know exactly what to do when they bust out the probes. It’s why Scooby Doo has Shaggy. There’s a man who knows his way around a probe. Err — I mean, he’s probably done a lot of research. I phrased that badly.
Anyways, my UFO guy friend is a constant source of amusement, because I never know what novel ideas he’s going to send my way. He’s like every episode of the X-Files rolled into one person. I mean, I don’t believe anything he says, but it’s fun to listen and egg him on. He could be the twitchy stoner in my crime-solving dream team. Now I need to find a nerdy girl, a jock, a hot chick, a token ethnic hire, and a sweet van. I can be mission control, because I really don’t want to go outside — or put on pants.
I don’t know about you guys, but I miss getting phone calls like these. I miss getting phone calls in general, because I’m unpopular. I also switched to a new service provider for faster Internet Service Providings and haven’t given anyone my new number. Mostly because I can’t remember it. Also, it doesn’t seem to have the same amount of numbers as a regular one. In any case, I guess I’m at least partially to blame.
I especially miss getting calls from call centers. I particularly like talking to salesmen right as I’m sitting down to dinner. I got used to eating everything cold because I’d much rather talk to someone with an accent you could use to cut birch plywood than eat. I miss the old, “Excuse me sir, are you being happy with your internet service provider of current standing?”
I’d reply with the usual. You know, “What are you wearing?” or maybe a nice, “When do you get off work? Or, “Why don’t you come over and have dinner? I can give you a nice massage after.”
It’s surprising, but very few people take me up on my offer, but I always set the table for two in case anyone changes their mind. The spaghetti may be cold, but it’s made with love — and spaghetti.