Classic Post: What Does the Company I Keep Say About Me?
Originally Posted 1-11-08
I’ve got some fucked up friends.
Last Sunday, (today is Friday) right before I went to bed at about 11 PM, I received an email from a good friend of mine. The email was to show me pictures of himself, his wife and their three-week-old newborn baby boy.
Later that night I was sound asleep when I was awakened by a familiar sound. My cell phone was going off at exactly 12:30 am. I sleep with the phone fairly close to the bed, since I use the phone’s built-in alarm clock feature to wake up in the morning. By the time I had awakened enough to figure out that someone was calling, the ringing had stopped.
I blew it off and closed my eyes to go back to sleep. Then, about 60 seconds after the phone stopped ringing, I heard the three loud beeps that go off whenever I have a voice mail message waiting.
I laid there for about 30 seconds, deciding whether or not to ignore the message and deal with it in the morning. I decided that I’d better see who was calling, just in case someone was in trouble or something and needed my help.
I flipped open the handset, squinting at the display on my phone. Looking at the bright screen after waking up from a dead sleep in my dark bedroom was like staring through a telescope directly into the Sun. The display read “One Missed Call”. I checked the caller ID and it said the name of the same person who’d emailed me earlier that night. I was going to ignore it, as this person has a history of drunk dialing at all hours of the night, but he usually doesn’t leave messages if I don’t answer. So I dialed my voice mail just to make sure he wasn’t in jail or something.
I am just going to let the message speak for itself.
Make sure you listen before reading any further. After you play the message, click and drag over the space below to expose the rest of the story.
As you can imagine, this was quite disturbing. Angie woke up and was beginning to get annoyed. I laid there giggling quietly to myself, not making any sound but my stomach was twitching enough to shake the bed. Angie hadn’t heard the phone ring and she just assumed that I had farted in bed and that’s why I was so amused. After about two minutes of this, I had to play the voice mail on speakerphone so she’d believe that I hadn’t indeed just shit myself.
This begs so many questions. First, why do you even have a picture of your penis? I don’t have any pictures of my penis. I can pretty much see it any time I want to. If I need to examine the junk at a moment’s notice, I can just look down.
And as long as we’re talking about pictures, how does one mistake a picture of his penis for a picture of himself and his family? I’ve been pretty fucking drunk in my day, and I can state with absolute certainty that I’ve never mistaken a photo of my daughter for a picture of make genitalia.
I called my buddy about a week later.
“Dude, why did you send me a picture of a cock last week? Is that your cock?”
“What?!?! No.”
“Seriously. Why the fuck did you send me a shot of your dick? Do I seem like a pecker-checker to you?”
He didn’t believe me for more than a second. Nor did he even remember sending the email in question or leaving the message on my phone 90 minutes later.
Finally, at the end of the conversation, I asked him why he has a picture like that in the first place.
His answer was priceless: “You mean you don’t?”
Reader Comments
A friend of mine just emailed me one of your articles from a while back. I read that one a few more. Really enjoy your blog. Thanks
Cool man thanks!! It’s always nice to hear that people like my work – it keeps me motivated to keep writing.