Phone Sex (Sort Of)

So, I'm sitting letting my dinner digest, sipping on a nice glass of Barolo, and the fucking phone rings. Despite knowing that I shouldn't, I answer it (an unusual act, I usually ignore it) because Mrs SC is away and I figure she's checking I'm not dead yet. It's not Mrs SC, and I'm not dead. It is, however, some salesbod trying to sell me some shit via an unsolicited call. What's more, he doesn't have the best command of the English language. I think to myself, fuck it, there's nothing on the TV.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mister Santa Cruz?"

"Who's that?"

"Is that Mister Santa Cruz?"

"Why? Who are you?"

"I can't discuss that with you unless you confirm you are Mister Santa Cruz."

"Why?"

"Data Protection." * This is a piss-poor ruse to get you to identify yourself!

"Well, if I say I am Mister Santa Cruz, what does that prove?"

"It confirms who you are."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does."

"Well, I'm afraid Mister Santa Cruz is dead."

"Oh, I see. Are you the homeowner?"

"Who's the homeowner?"

"Are you?"

"Give me a name and I'll tell you if he's the homeowner."

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me the name of the homeowner."

"Why?"

"Data protection!"
"Oh, I see. Are you the homeowner?"
"Which home?"
"This one."

"Which one?"

"I have a special offer if you are the homeowner."

"What is it?"

"Are you the homeowner?"

"Tell me what the offer is, and I'll tell you if I'm the homeowner."

"I can't tell you unless you confirm if you own the property."

"Which property?"
"Your property."

"I do own property, that I can confirm."
"What is the address?"

"It's the address that Mister Santa Cruz used to have."

"Are you Mister Santa Cruz?"

"No, he's still dead."

"So who are you?"

Now, if you're fucking confused, imagine how he felt. I still don't know what he was selling. I managed to keep him at it for 19 minutes before he hung up on me. My all-time record is 59 minutes. That bastard hung up just before I made the hour. I now have taken to recording the calls. It's fantastic what you can do if you put your mind to it. I had one bloke trying to sell me a phone barking like a dog.

Just remember folks; telesales people are for life, not just for Christmas.

Fuck them!

The Face of Jesus in my Soup

Now, many of you will have - at some point in your pitiful lives - laughed at those who wear their faith like a badge. Personally, I love it when they get all riled up because I laughed at them, and at the peak of their offense I remind them that they'll forgive me. Funnily enough, they often don't, which is just like spitting on baby Jesus in the cow shed.

Anyhow, the other day I was about to enjoy a bowl of soup, when I saw the creator of the Universe looking back at me. Now, in the old days, several Bishops would have turned up, along with a crowd of devotees, and my house would have been converted into a shrine before I could say "Fuck off, you Christian twats", or something like that.

Now, I do think we live in a Godless age, but as my aged Mother often tells me, it seems Godless because my soul is corrupt. So, I decided to believe, and convert to Jesus of the Tomato Soup's club. The next thing was to evangelise. Luckily, the soup manufacturer (I admit I didn't make it myself) had put a telephone number on the side of the carton, telling me to contact them if I had any queries. I did.

"Hello, it's about your tomato soup."

"Yes?"

"It has something in it."

"Are you sure it didn't fall in when you were preparing it?"

The point to note here is that the woman didn't know what was in it; she didn't care. All she wanted to do was shift the blame.

"No, I certainly didn't put it there."

"What exactly is it?"

"The face of Jesus."

Click ... Brrrrr

I redialed.

"Hello, I was just talking to someone else and we got cut off. I found something in my tomato soup."

"Was it a piece of tomato?"

"No, it wasn't, and it didn't fall in while I was heating up the soup, before you ask."

"What did you find?"

"The face of Jesus."

"Pardon?"

"The face of Jesus is in my soup. The creator of the world is looking up at me from the bowl."

(After a brief pause) "Really?"

"Yes, really."

Click ... Brrrrr

For a moment I thought about taking the bowl to the local church, but instead I stuck the spoon it, gave it a stir, and ate it. We do indeed live in Godless times.