Friday, December 1, 2006

Ode to Mucinex


My friend … Lana (names have been changed to protect the innocent), once upon a time, had a job working as an assistant to a busy, corporate type. He had various friends and colleagues who would call up and joke with her, or flirt, as middle-aged pencil pushers are wont to do. One day, Lana picked up the phone and a very strange, robotic voice was on the other end.

“Hello,” it wheezed. “Can. I. Speak. To. Rob. Ert.”

“Hello, Mr. Martian!” Lana chortled, assuming it was one of her boss’s friends. “How are you doing today?”

“Can. I. Speak. To. Rob. Ert.” The robot implored.

“Of course!” Lana laughed, “I’ll put you right through. Goodbye, Mr. Martian! Have fun on Mars!”

She put the call through, and a few minutes later her boss popped out of his office.

“That was my Dad,” he said. “He’s had a tracheotomy.”

BA-DUM bum.

Anyway, thanks to a cold, that’s how I sound today. Like Mr. Martian crossed with Lindsay Lohan after five straight packs of Marlboro Lights. It’s kind of sexy, if viruses turn you on.

Have a great weekend!

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