The wife in a rowboat wakes me up on Sunday morning as she presses her phone in my face. I pull back, thinking she may be trying to cut me with the spiderweb cracked iphone screen (that’s another story). The confused look on her face suggests that perhaps she’s not trying to Freddy Kruger me, so I listen to the sound coming from her phone. And it is weird.
Since I can’t export voicemail audio files from the iphone, you’ll have to settle for this transcript of the most bizarre wrong number voicemail ever.
“Uhhhh, now here, this is Lyndon Baines Michael Martin Johnson, LBJ to you. Ummm, Jim Bob, Jimbo, out there now, as a good southerner, I understand your Jesse Helms thing but I got these Hay-Garr slacks on, and uh, they’re pinching me really good in the groinage area. Um, you know what I’m talking about. You know, you’re a man, I’m a man, I know how it gets when it gets tight down there and shoot, I ain’t doing nothing. I just want to go see Ladybird plant her flowers along the highways and you know not have that crotch ride up like it does, up my butt and all. Well, shoot, ain’t nothing going on in Cally-forn-ya except that nutcase candidate chasing crowd, i don’t know. Ain’t nothing much to tell out here on the left coast in Commie-forn-ya, shoot. I don’t know nothing, wondering what everyone is in a big hissy-fit about now.”
This came from Northern Los Angeles around 2:30 am est.