HOST: (voice-over) Good evening. Tonight’s piece, “Calvin Carson’s Cavalcade of Cars, Cards, and Cardigans,” has fortunately been misplaced on account of gratuitous sex, violence, and pedantry. In its place, we dispassionately offer a mostly flaccid, partly turgid bit of tale titled, “That Wasn’t Even Sexy,” already unpackaged, reheated, and ready for you to do with as you please.
Oh. And please note: the safeword is, “mukluks.”
And now, the bit…
A phone RINGS, and SOMEONE accidentally answers when they actually meant to ignore it.
CALLER: Oh, good. You’re not a complete idiot.
SOMEONE: Surprises await us both, I suppose.
CALLER: Truer words have been spoken. May I speak with Throbbing Fistwood, please?
SOMEONE: Did I say, “No”?
SOMEONE: Oh. Because I meant to say, “Yes.”
CALLER: So, I may speak with Throbbing Fistwood, then?
CALLER: I’m sorry. I must have bludgeoned myself to death on my faux hardwood floor, because I appear to be in Hell.
SOMEONE: Would you like to call back another time?
CALLER: May I speak with Throbbing Fistwood then?
CALLER: Then, for God’s sake, why would I call back later?
SOMEONE: I was wondering that myself.
CALLER: I swear, this is the number the young lady gave me when I inquired with her about Throbbing Fistwood. Are you sure this isn’t Throbbing Fistwood?
SOMEONE: Fairly certain.
CALLER: I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time.
SOMEONE: It doesn’t have to be a total waste, does it?
CALLER: How so?
SOMEONE: I mean, you’ll have to give me a moment, but I may be able to help.
CALLER: You can help locate Throbbing Fistwood?
SOMEONE: Well. At my age, you never can be too sure without a bit of assistance, if you will.
CALLER: No. No, thank you. I’m afraid I’m a bit tight on time at the moment. Perhaps I’ll try calling back later.
CALLER: Who should I ask for?
SOMEONE: Dick Squat-thrust.
CALLER: Got it, Dick. May I call you “Dick”?
SOMEONE: I certainly hope so.”
CALLER: Thank you.
They hang up.