By Sam
It was 4:00pm and I was already passed out on the couch in a pool of my own gluttonous vomit. Chunks of partially digested pizza slid across my shirt and down towards my belly, as my body tried desperately to wheeze in enough oxygen to keep my pathetic carcass alive. It was fighting a losing battle against the half-kilo of cheese I had just stuffed down - and on - my face.
The gurgling sound of my snores was punctuated by the shrill ring of the telephone. I awoke with a loud obscenity, hitting the floor like a flesh wrapped sack of cheese, which was exactly what I was. I envied no man.
"What the hell?" I screamed at an unreasonably loud volume. "Who vomited my pizza all over me? And who pooped in my pants?"
The phone continued to ring, its insistent tone cutting through the fetid air.
"Why is there noise?" I shouted. "Jack make the noise stop!"
"No!" came a muffled reply from across the house. "Not until you take a bath, or at least stand out in the rain or something."
"No can do!" I replied seriously. "I need to keep up a certain level of filthiness to drive away Delta Goodrem. Seriously, she just won't take no for an answer."
"Delta Goodrem... the singer."
"Yeah sure!" I replied truculently. "Delta Goodrem has been stalking me because I'm so hot. Anyone who says that it's actually a bus driver named Frank is either lying or mad."
"This 'Delta Goodrem'," probed Jack. "Does she have an Adam's apple?"
"Yeah dude. That's how I knew she was a chick. It's called an Adam's apple because Adam thought it was totally hot that Eve had one."
"...Sam."
"Yeah?"
"Answer the damn phone."
I strode across to the phone, wiping my greasy hand on my even greasier pants.
"Joe's house of meat, it's great to 'meat' you," I yelled my awesome pun into the receiver.
I was greeted by a scream of aural agony from the other end of the line. I sat back, pleased that I had won the first exchange.
"Now we play the waiting game," I mumbled to myself.
"What?" said the person on the other end of the line. "What waiting game?"
"Well played sir," I replied.
"Umm... I'm not entirely certain that I know what you're talking about," said the voice.
"Indeed."
"Indeed what?"
"Enough verbal banter!" I screamed suddenly, rising a number of decibels.
"Sam," said the voice on the line, suddenly serious. "This is the President of the United States."
"You?" I said in disbelief. "You can't be the President. He's too stupid to even work a telephone."
"Have I somehow called 2003?" said the not-president. "That guy was voted out years ago. I'm the new one - you know - the one that can string a sentence together."
"Okay, what can I do for you Mr President," I said.
"Good man, this is very important terrorists have taken over..."
"Ha!" I screamed. "That was a verbal trap and you fell for it! That proves you're not the President. He would never start a sentence without saying the worlds 'My fellow Americans'."
"Firstly, yes I would, and secondly you're not even American."
"Ah!" I admonished, waving a finger in the air where the President couldn't see it.
There was a sigh from the other end of the line. It was the sigh of a dominated loser.
"My fellow Americans," said the President, "I am the President of the United States."
"Very well, " I conceded. "What can I do for you Mr President?"
"My fellow Americans, is this another verbal trap?"
"Why is there noise?" I shouted. "Jack make the noise stop!"
"No!" came a muffled reply from across the house. "Not until you take a bath, or at least stand out in the rain or something."
"No can do!" I replied seriously. "I need to keep up a certain level of filthiness to drive away Delta Goodrem. Seriously, she just won't take no for an answer."
"Delta Goodrem... the singer."
"Yeah sure!" I replied truculently. "Delta Goodrem has been stalking me because I'm so hot. Anyone who says that it's actually a bus driver named Frank is either lying or mad."
"This 'Delta Goodrem'," probed Jack. "Does she have an Adam's apple?"
"Yeah dude. That's how I knew she was a chick. It's called an Adam's apple because Adam thought it was totally hot that Eve had one."
"...Sam."
"Yeah?"
"Answer the damn phone."
I strode across to the phone, wiping my greasy hand on my even greasier pants.
"Joe's house of meat, it's great to 'meat' you," I yelled my awesome pun into the receiver.
I was greeted by a scream of aural agony from the other end of the line. I sat back, pleased that I had won the first exchange.
"Now we play the waiting game," I mumbled to myself.
"What?" said the person on the other end of the line. "What waiting game?"
"Well played sir," I replied.
"Umm... I'm not entirely certain that I know what you're talking about," said the voice.
"Indeed."
"Indeed what?"
"Enough verbal banter!" I screamed suddenly, rising a number of decibels.
"Sam," said the voice on the line, suddenly serious. "This is the President of the United States."
"You?" I said in disbelief. "You can't be the President. He's too stupid to even work a telephone."
"Have I somehow called 2003?" said the not-president. "That guy was voted out years ago. I'm the new one - you know - the one that can string a sentence together."
"Okay, what can I do for you Mr President," I said.
"Good man, this is very important terrorists have taken over..."
"Ha!" I screamed. "That was a verbal trap and you fell for it! That proves you're not the President. He would never start a sentence without saying the worlds 'My fellow Americans'."
"Firstly, yes I would, and secondly you're not even American."
"Ah!" I admonished, waving a finger in the air where the President couldn't see it.
There was a sigh from the other end of the line. It was the sigh of a dominated loser.
"My fellow Americans," said the President, "I am the President of the United States."
"Very well, " I conceded. "What can I do for you Mr President?"
"My fellow Americans, is this another verbal trap?"
"Mr President," I said in a deep, serious voice. "I'd ask you to get to the point; time is short, and there are lives on the line here."
"What!" spluttered the President angrily. "But you..."
There was a muffled scream.
"Look," he said, returning to the line. "You're right, we don't have time. Terrorists have taken over the Empire State Building. They want me to disband the US armed forces by the end of today, or they'll set off a nuclear bomb. I asked the head of the Navy SEALs where I could find the best anti-terrorist soldier in the world. He sent me to you. I'll pay you whatever you ask. You're the only one who can stop this."
"Hey, that's cool," I said, picking up a crust of pizza from the floor and chewing it thoughtfully. "Tell me how good I am again."
"You've served in every environment on the planet," said the President. "You've killed over two hundred known terrorist leaders in thirty four different countries, and never once have you failed a mission. You are the best of the best. You are Sam Barrington."
"Yeah," I said, as a wet patch of pride-urine began to stain the front of my pants. "I think you may have the wrong number."
"What!" spluttered the President angrily. "But you..."
There was a muffled scream.
"Look," he said, returning to the line. "You're right, we don't have time. Terrorists have taken over the Empire State Building. They want me to disband the US armed forces by the end of today, or they'll set off a nuclear bomb. I asked the head of the Navy SEALs where I could find the best anti-terrorist soldier in the world. He sent me to you. I'll pay you whatever you ask. You're the only one who can stop this."
"Hey, that's cool," I said, picking up a crust of pizza from the floor and chewing it thoughtfully. "Tell me how good I am again."
"You've served in every environment on the planet," said the President. "You've killed over two hundred known terrorist leaders in thirty four different countries, and never once have you failed a mission. You are the best of the best. You are Sam Barrington."
"Yeah," I said, as a wet patch of pride-urine began to stain the front of my pants. "I think you may have the wrong number."
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