Leave a Message After the Beep…Not a Fucking Monologue
Like most things, an answering machine is one thing and not a lot of other things. Just like how a screwdriver is a driver for screws and not a pry-er of shit out of other shit. Or how a car is not a chair; get the fuck off of it. Women are brilliant innovators in that way. They can take something with one obvious purpose and use it for a stupid and wrong one.
An answering machine is one thing: a machine to take your messages while you are away on man business. It isn’t a personal mechanical priest or therapist. Women must think it is though with their ten minute fucking messages that have no point.
Men are so great and so much better than women, sometimes the nuances of how fucking perfect we are slip through the cracks. Take leaving a message. Men leave messages like they’re speaking in Spanish — which they are also better than women at. In Spanish, if a question is a question, it starts with a question mark to let you know. If you go to Mexico, you will find this out for yourself.
“Call me back. This is Bill,” or “I need a ride to my car. This is Bill, again.”
That’s how it’s done correctly. Men put the purpose of the message right up front like they’re speaking Spanish. Women leave answering machine messages as though they are speaking Retarded, in which every sentence starts with ‘um’ or ‘so’ or a five second period of fucking silence while they change hands to pay for some bullshit. Fuck the people who are waiting in line!
If women are better than men at anything, it’s wasting as much and as many people’s time as possible through their fuck-upery. They’re not though. A man invented Sudoku.
Here’s a question. Does any woman actually know the rules to Sudoku? That is a man only question, like usual. If you’re a woman and you want to answer it, you can go fuck yourself. I’ve picked up three different women’s Sudoku books and I was not surprised to find the same thing in each: errors; errors every which way and not one puzzle completed. Here’s an FAQ for women playing Sudoku.
Dick’s Sudoku FAQ for Women:
Q: How many nine’s in a column count as more than one nine?
A: How many up’s count as a Shut the Fuck Up?
Here’s another question. Does any cell phone company offer a way to refuse all voice mails from women? No. That would save too many ten-minute, billable nougats of me deciphering what in the fuck a woman is talking about in my voice mail. Do I need to pick anyone up? Do I need to call anyone back? Is this urgent?
Of course it’s not urgent. Women never have anything urgent to talk about until they’re pregnant — and then the only thing urgent is you and your new drinking problem. Contragulations! It’s a neurotic mess — and also a baby of some kind!
Another one of the things an answering machine is not is an amateurish playground into the world of being a shitty disc jockey. If you have music on your answering machine, you are a slut. If you’re leaving a message on one, congratulations, you’re about to get laid.
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I guess I lose some manpoints for admitting I had music in the background on my answering machine for about 6 months many years ago. On the plus side, it wound up indirectly helping me get a promotion — for merit, I hasten to add. Long story.
But Dick’s totally right. My great uncle John is something like 93 years old. The guy’s done everything. Killed lots of Japanese in the War. Killed lots of Chinese in Korea. Killed lots of Koreans in Korea. Killed lots of Vietnamese in that war.
The one thing he never kills is time. His messages are short, and succinct.
“John X. Visiting 3 days, starting 7 December. Suggest lunch, 8th. Noon. My Club. Regrets only.”
A woman would take like 5 million years to say that. Even most men would take longer. He doesn’t need the “Hi, this is John X”. Those first 3 words are superfluous. He doesn’t say “I’m Visiting your city/you”, he figures you’re smart enough to figure that out from the context. Being a man and all. He’s being polite and very verbose in using “suggest” and “noon” — every man knows lunch is at noon. “My Club” — well you should darn well know what his club is, how to dress for it, and where it is and how to get to it, or have you not been paying attention to him these last 93 years?
Now that’s the kind of message a man leaves.
By contrast, my Aunt:
“Hello, dear wolfe. I think, you know that… oh just a moment, fluffy is barking… hang on fluffy… by the way are you still dating that nice young blonde woman who was an eskimo? [I have no idea what the heck she means] Down fluffy! Now, wolfe, this is your Aunt Gladys, and I wanted to… oh just a moment, you are such a fusser fluffy… BEEP”.
That’s right. More than 30 seconds, and you get cut off. Too bad. If you can’t summarize your reason for calling in 30 seconds, it’s not worth saying.
-wolfe
What about the “press one to leave a call back number, press 2 to page, press three to stick your nuts in a blender” voice mail prompts? Well, those are cell phones but still annoying as hell.