Butt-Dialing

My brother butt dialed me today. I picked up the phone, “Hello?”

There was no reply.

“Helloooo? Bro? You there?”

No reply.

“Hellooooooooo? Did you butt-dial me??”

Like he was going to answer that question.

“HELLO??? Brother?? YOU THERE?? I hear weird sounds! I hope it’s a butt-dial…”

I hung up. “Vin! My brother just butt-dialed me, and I heard weird sounds…”

“Huh? Like what? Is he okay?”

“It sounded like he was mashing something? Or whipping somethi… OH! Oh, gross!”, I recoiled in horror.

My face contorted and I threw up in my mouth a little, trying to unimagine what just randomly popped into my brain.

Vin laughed abruptly, covering his mouth and nose to hold in his coffee. I glared at him.

“Oh, you think that’s funny? My brother butt dials me while he’s burping his worm, and you think that’s funny? You’re fucking sick.”

“If you think that’s what I was thinking, you’re the one who’s sick. You imagined your own brother fisting his mister.”

“I hate you. I wonder where he set the phone?”

“Maybe it was in his back pocket? I hope it wasn’t in his front pocket.”

“I wonder what he pushed the Call button with?” I threw up a little more. “Okay, okay… maybe that’s NOT what he was doing. Maybe he was just, like, mashing potatoes or something. It IS Thanksgiving tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Key word? Tomorrow. Why would he be mashing potatoes today? He was totally pumpin’ the stump. HE WAS JERKIN’ HIS GHERKIN.”

“HE WAS WHIPPING EGGS FOR AN OMELETTE, OKAY? He has to eat today, too, not just tomorrow!”

“Uh huh. Have you eaten today? You hungry?

“Not anymore.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

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