Get Caller ID We Must
|Every day at the Jedi Temple phone calls we get from this female:|
Reba the Hutt, her name is. Married to Bubba the Hutt she is. The same thing every time she asks.
Reba: "Is my old man over there?"
Me: "No, Mrs. the Hutt, seen him I..."
Reba: "Well, he better not be! I told him to stop hangin' around that Kenobi feller."
Me: "Yes, completely I under..."
Reba: "You tell that no good son-of-a-Wookiee that he better get his butt back home if he knows what's good for him."
Me: "But seen him I have no..."
Reba: "He needs to be home and be a father to these five kids. You think I can raise these brats by myself? I need some help around here, you know."
Me: "Of course, that..."
Reba: "Here we are, none of the cars in our yard run, the roof on the trailer is leaking, the TV is broke, so I can't watch Oprah, and does he care? He's probably out with that Kenobi idiot at some monster truck show or wrestlin' match or some such garbage. And here I am, gotta put up with all this crap, and I'm out of beer! What kind of husband is that?"
Me: "Hard for you.."
Reba: "And the yard! The yard looks terrible. It ain't been mowed in months. I mean the grass is so high, I ain't seen the dog in three days. I can hear him howlin', though. That no good man of mine needs to get back home so he can find that dog before it dies from starvation in our yard."
Me: "Yes, terrible that..."
Reba: "I mean it's still a week until we get our regular check from the government, and he's out spending what little we got on his loser buddies when he needs to be home trying to trade our food stamps for chewin' tobacco."
Me: "Yes, well..."
Reba: "I'm getting sick of his garbage, you understand? He needs to take care of his family. Try to make a better life for us, maybe get us moved into a new double-wide. We've been in this dump for six years and he ain't even took the wheels off yet. What do I have to do..."
Get caller ID, we must.