I Don't Fucking Think So

A sample of one call I took Saturday night....

"Hi sweetie," said caller.

"Hello."  Have I mentioned how much I hate callers who start off already in their sexy/creepy personas?  "What's your name?"

"Robbie," the caller replied with a simpering giggle.  "I've been naughty," he confides.   Middle age Midwestern men should never try to sound cute and creepy at the same time.  It totally grosses me out and makes me want to call in a tactical airstrike on their worthless asses.

"And what have you been doing that makes you so naughty?" Please let this be something I can turn into a long call, I think with dwindling hope.

"I've been in your little daughter's room. . ." And now my hope for a long call is dead and buried.  "She's in there playing with her little friend. . ."

"Oh I don't fucking think so, Robbie," I interrupted with an evil laugh.

Dead silence for a moment.  "And why is that?" he asked with a much more normal sounding voice.  Now, I can listen to his hope dwindle along with my own.  We are not going to have a meeting of the minds when it comes to sexual fantasy.

"You're still breathing."

"What?"

"You.  Are.  Still.  Breathing," I repeat with more precise ennunciation.  "If you attempted to enter my daughter's room where she is having a sleepover with her friends, she would take one look at you and start screaming her head off and, before I could even jump out of bed, one of our rottweilers would charge in and rip out your femoral artery.  I would arrive just in time to watch you bleed out, Robbie."

More dead silence

"Care to try again, Robbie?"

And he hangs up.