THIS IS A RECORDING
What is this world coming to when a faceless voice offers you a choice you can't refuse. But pardon me, kid, I just did. What kind of sucker do you think I am to fall for that 42nd Street scam? Where "girls" of forty with painted faces wearing sporty shorts or mini skirts flirt with any guy who happens by with that sad, leering look in his eye.
Though horny I be, she is not for me. I am not like other men Then the phone rings again. And again. And again. I ask myself what's the harm in it? I'll listen to her shit. Her prerecorded pitch. Then hang up on the bitch. I pick up and wouldn't you know, it's another faceless voice offering me a choice to burn in hell or accept my savior with a nice donation to his congregation. Is this a sign from the devine, via the telephone line?
I ignore the voice. I have a choice. I go on line and what do I see? A gospel gasping minister staring straight at me. "Resist temptation, accept salvation! Your donation will save a sinner. Will turn a loser into winner."
No matter the channel to which I switch I hear the same old sales pitch glitch. Ads for doodads, gizmos, thingamajigs and dancing pigs. Stuff to make your mouth smell sweet, to take the ache out of your feet. How to seduce your weekenguest, enlarge your breast, find romance and kill red ants.
Hucksters of the world arise! Pay your fee and televise. Viewers may not buy what you sell. But what the hell. It's the good old American way.
Since I am not yet ready for perversion or conversion, and gimmickry is not for me, I opt for my favorite diversion. I turn off the set, get set for my escape into sleep. The phone rings and rings and rings. I answer with some hesitation. Is this another sexploitation? I hear a voice, hang up and sink in slumber. Thank God, it was just a wrong number.