....May 29, 2006

Me: "911.  May I help you?"

Caller:  "I just come home and found my husband laying on the kitchen floor.  He ain't moving."

Me:  "You just came home.  You found your husband lying on the floor.  He isn't moving."

Caller:  "That's right."

Me:  "Yes, I'm sure it is.  Is your husband breathing?"

Caller:  "I can't tell.  It don't look like he's breathing or nothing."

Me:  "Doesn't.  It doesn't look like your husband is breathing.  Or anything."

Caller:  "That's what I said!  What are you, a parrot?  Please hurry!"

Me:  "Your husband.  Is he fat?  I mean, why can't you tell if he's breathing?"

Caller:  "What did you say?"

Me:  "I asked whether your husband was fat.  I have this picture in my mind of a fat redneck sprawled across a linoleum floor, the refrigerator door ajar, and he's still clutching a fried chicken drumstick in his short, meaty fist."

Caller:  "Looka here.  Ain't you going to ask me for my address or nothing."

Me:  "I get the feeling you're not trying."

Caller:  "Sir, my husband's done turned blue."

Me:  "What color shirt is he wearing?" 

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