Posted on

Day Three.

Basically, I’m a telemarketer.

Imagine there’s a list of people out there who fuck their dogs— or other peoples’ dogs. Or wild dogs. These people are just the bottom of the barrel of the worst dog-fuckers if there was a list. Now, lets pretend I have access to this list of people into hairy dog nipples and shit. I paid somebody for this list. It was a thousand dollars but that’s not the point— the point is that I have a business line and I’m going to call these sick fucks and sell them things dog-fuckers like— things like dog-fucking.

So I’m calling people that have interest in fucking dogs— for fucking dogs.

But instead of dog fucking I call people about business insurance. But insurance is boring so I made this dog-fucking analogy instead.

You’ve gotta give me the benefit of the doubt. Most of my calls are pretty non-intrusive, like so:

Me: Hi ma’am, this is Charlie Brown from VCR Insurance.

Receptionist: You have to stop calling.

Me: Ma’am, you know I’m a pilot, right?

Receptionist: No you’re not.

Me: Then who’s flying the plane?

Can’t get fired for this stuff. See, I’m the smartest guy in the office so all incoming calls at our call center get routed to me first. And because I’m the smartest guy in the office I also play a convincing receptionist. So every time I get a complaint about myself I just route the call to myself because, well, I also play a very convincing and apologetically regretful CEO.

Receptionist: One of your telemarketers called me today and said he was a pilot.

Me: Okay, what would you like me to do about it?

Receptionist: Take us off of your list.

Me: I can do that but—

Receptionist: Thanks.

Me: You didn’t let me finish. I can take you off of our list but I’m going to have to put you on a Chinese one.

Receptionist: I don’t even—

Click. Rinse. Repeat.