My eyes are hella bloodshot. Could this be because my sleep was interrupted last night?
Maybe. But then again, maybe not. My eyes are pretty much bloodshot all of the time.
What's that, I hear you cry, did you say something about interrupted sleep?
It all started earlier this year, I guess. I thought I'd written something about this, but I guess I didn't - at least, I can't find it anywhere.
I was listening to a Henry Rollins Spoken Word CD. Get In The Van.
I was listening to it for the second time, and this time I was determined to get to the end before I fell asleep. Annoyingly, there was only one track on each CD, so it took a hella long time to get to where you last remembered.
So, there I am, listening to Henry's fascinating tales of life on the road with Black Flag, and I start to drift off....... Henry's sweet voice is lulling me to sleep....... It's about 2am.
When all of a sudden, I'm saved! Doo dee doo dee doo deee - it's my mobile phone, with a beepful rendition of Bad Religion's American Jesus.
I spring awake, and answer the phone.
Some abusive rhetoric poured out of the receiver. Righty-OOOOOooo then.
I put the phone down next to the speaker, so my late-night caller could listen to Henry Rollins as well. Quite kind of me, really.
20 minutes later, I pick up the phone... they're still ranting on. Beep. I hang up on them.
And then they call again. I expose them to another 20 minutes of Henry, then hang up on them again.
They don't call back. For a few weeks.
This time, though, they're much friendlier. I guess time heals all wounds.
It's 3am. I'm sleeping. I'm somewhere in my dream, I don't know. Suddenly, my dream takes a massive shift. I'm no longer in wherever I was. I'm in a hallway at my old high school. A payphone on the wall is ringing.
I answer it. It's a University Radio competition. To win fabulous prizes, I just have to answer the question: How big is your car.
"Pretty big, I guess," I reply.
They ask it again.
"Pretty big," I answer a little louder this time, "it's a station wagon."
Then I wake up, and realize that I've actually answered my mobile in my sleep.
They ask the question again:
"How big is your cock?"
I hang up on him, but he calls again. "Do you want to wank with me?" The guy asks me.
"Not really," I reply. I hang up again.
He calls again. Right, that's it. I have to work out some way that my phone will still be my alarm clock, but won't ring when somebody calls it. A little bit of fiddling (with the phone, you perverts!) and it's done.
Do you like what I did there? That probably didn't even occur to you. Ahahahaha.
Next morning, 14 missed calls. woahwoahWOAH! Hold the phone, Victoria!
He called a few more times in the next few weeks, alternating between being abusive, and coming on to me. But he never woke me up again.
I called my telephone company to see what could be done - not a lot, it appeared. The calls weren't frequent enough... I could change my number though.
Fuck that, I like my number. It's hella easy to remember.
Anyway, that was that.
This was about 4 months ago. The guy didn't call again.
Until last night. I'm fast asleep, when I hear my phone ringing. I feel really well-rested... it must be, like, 5 am or something? I wasn't too fussed, in that case, because I was going to be getting up in a minute anyway.
I look at my clock. It's 1am. Fuckers. I look at my phone.
All the other times, it had said Private Number Calling.
Now it said 0431 684 082.
At this stage, I didn't know it was the guy. And if there was a real number... well... it might be a real person.
I answer the phone.
"Want a free blowjob?"
It wasn't a real person. He says it again. I hang up. 15 seconds.
He calls again. I press the little cancel call button... hey, it worked.
He didn't call again.
But now I had his phone number. 0431 684 082.
Let's get to the bottom of this shit.
So, this morning, I went to a payphone, and dialled 0431 684 082.
"Hello," said the guy. It was The Guy. Motherfucker.
"Hello, my name's Orville Sexton," I lied to him, "And wouldn't you know it, I was awoken at 1am this morning by a call from this number."
"I think you've got the wrong number," The Guy said.
I quoted the number at him. 0431 684 082.
"Yeah, that's this number," says The Guy, "Who was it."
"Funny thing is," I reply, "They didn't leave a name. Just a lot of guff about blowjobs and the like."
"Well, it wasn't me," says The Guy, "I was, uh, at a party."
"And you just let anyone use your phone?"
"Just make sure it doesn't happen again," I say, all threatening-like, and I slammed the phone down on him.
There's two things I hate. Well, actually, there's considerably more than two things that I hate.
But two things I hate that are relevant.
1. People who say that you've got the wrong number when you clearly don't. When I get a missed call on my phone, I don't go around sticking digits in all willy-nilly. I press Call, and it calls up the exact number that called me.
So don't tell me that I've got the wrong number, people that call the wrong number and get my phone. You had the wrong number. Not me.
Granted, in this case, I had actually put the digits into another phone, but still! How was this fucker to know?
2. Perverts that call people up in the middle of the night.
I'm not particularly phased by the whole perversion thing. It doesn't bother me. I'm an easy-going guy - I can take that sort of shit.
But let's face it, what are the chances that I'm the only guy that this person calls to get his rocks off. Slim to none.
Chances are, he's calling a bunch of other numbers - and some of those people are going to be seriously disturbed by it - they might even be children.
How is that fair? It's really not. If he calls two more times (the minimum required), worry not. I shall take this up with The Man.
Naturally, nobody should call him at 0431 684 082 and let him know what they think of his scummy behaviour. That would be inappropriate. 0431 684 082 would be an inappropriate number to call.
UPDATE: I'm serious, by the way.
Don't call him.
1. The guy I spoke to sounded just like the midnight caller... but some people sound the same, you know. Especially if they're in the same social group.
Which, if this guy was telling the truth, they are.
2. If it is The Guy, he'll probably get off on it.
3. Well, 1 and 2 pretty much covered it.
I'm positive that this is The Guy, but fuck, when has my memory ever been a good judge of things - especially pretty sleepy memories.
So, to conclude:
It's probably him.
But there's a slim chance that it might not be.
Don't call him.
I wouldn't mention it, but after I'd posted it, I felt some second thoughts.
I read it again... yeah... it seemed okay. Then I got a phone call from a certain O. Sexton that went something like this:
Them: Do you want me to sort this out for you?
Me: What do you mean... sort this out?
Them: Find out who they are... and sort them out.
Me: Um. Not like that. I think.
Them: Okay. Oh, and don't use my name again or I'll knock your fucking teeth out.
Hot, steamy SECOND UPDATE sweaty muscley ACTION:
you have a gay stalker
the other night I was out at the bar
and there was this couple pressed up against the wall
and it was a very WHOA get a ROOM moment
and then I suddenly realised they were both guys
which just made it funny, because I've been reading way too much slash.
Dr. Cam Sexenheimer says:
two guys making out against the wall of a crowded club. Sounds pretty GAY if you ask me.
also, bars are so much more awesome now they're not filled with lung-blackening smoke
doesn't your cell have caller ID?
I mean, block caller
that's the one
Dr. Cam Sexenheimer says:
What sort of phone do you think I have?
well, my phone does it
I can block like ten numbers from calling my phone
inspects phone warily
I have no freaking idea how to actually use my phone, but I'm sure I read it does that in the manual
yeah, I can
here it is
I can restrict incoming and outgoing calls if I so choose.
I guess your phone just sucks.