So I go through my life ho hum ho hum. Listening to Rome, etc. Then I look at my cell phone.
Oh yay, a text message. Hmm, no one from my contact list.
So I get the following message from some goon at the 409 area code. Apparently the person's name is Moose. It read as follows:
"I have a friend in Houston who's son want's to learn to ride bulls. He's 3. Can you call me when you get the chance, it don't have to be tonight.
<Moose>"First of all, way to text the wrong person. You must have me mixed up with a child molestor and/or bull riding instructor.
Look, why don't you tell your friend in Houston that he's a dumbass. Then I want you to report this guy to Child Protective Services for even considering putting a 3 year old on a bull.
I'm glad that you want to help your friend and all, but I think the best way to help him would be to remove the bottle of Jack Daniels from his hand and direct him to the unemployment line.
Thanks for saying "it don't have to be tonight" when I call back. I was worried that it does has to be tonight.
What is this guy wanting? "Oh yeah, I can get your friend's son on a bull, just put 50 bucks in unmarked bills in the alley behind the PigglyWiggly."
What's next? "Hey, my sister's newborn wants to rockclimb. Call me back."
P.S. I like the effort in trying to use proper punctuation, but there's no apostrophe in "want's". Oooo, so close.
P.P.S. Nice name there, Moose. I'm sure things are going great for you. When your name is Moose, your career choices narrow down to either farmhand or fullback for the Dallas Cowboys. I'm pretty sure the texter isn't Moose Johnston, 3 time Superbowl champion, so I'd have to say you're the farmhand. You don't see too many Moose the Pediatrician, or Moose the Prime Minister of England.
Comments (1)
Wow. That is hilarious. I just love being from the 409.