"BLEARGH," or, "The Rancid Fruits of Morning"

7:30 A.M.—When the goddamn phone rings at this time of morning, tugging and prodding at my sleep-addled brain like a bunch of unruly mongrel children with a full assortment of fireplace accessories, I am perverse enough to wonder what possibly could result from answering, and I simply must find out. Perhaps the caller actually has some good reason to be bothering me. Perhaps the caller lacks a good reason, and in that case I might get to hear when he is justly decimated by the Vengeful Pagan Column of Fire roaring forth from the offended bowels of the Earth. "GAAAAAARAAAHHGGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!! BEHOLD THE SHIT-STORM OF THE FIRE OF THE RIGHTEOUSLY CONTEMPTUOUS! AAAAAAAAAAHHHGAAGAIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeee....*poof*!" This torrent of fury channeled through my telephone's tiny speaker would lull me back to sleep as sweetly as any placid summer rain. Even we avowed heathens must sometimes entertain the idea that there are spiritual forces working to lend moral drama to our encounters with others.

If the Forces of Earthly Revenge don't nab you, please follow some basic guidelines when shamelessly pulling me out of my not-anywhere-near-completed slumber. Do not tell me too many things I already know. That's fucking idiotic. That's not the way competent adults communicate, contrary to what many office-bound foofoos appear to think. Also, do not attempt to share the benefits of your pitiful initiative with me. Get to your crap job as early as you want, but don't pull me into the picture until I'm damn good and ready. And don't sound any more excited than I sound. It's early enough that I can concieve of myself as a demon, and if need be I will certainly try to devour the souls of your children in order to level out your surplus of enthusiasm for the grubby by-products of life. You may be chipper about my drug test, but like any thinking person, I resent the intrustion upon my personal life.

Rat-crap scatmuncher fruitcake nitwit with no conception of time zones.