The phone call’s for me? Hmm, that’s funny. Thanks, Horatio.
Hello? May I ask who’s calling? Dad, is that you? Your voice sounds strange. Aren’t you dead? What’s up with the phone call? I thought you people were supposed to rest in peace. . . Of course the funeral was sad. Why wouldn’t it be? . . . Yeah, I know she got married only a month after you died, but who could resist a guy like Claudius? Mr. Super-Stud. . . . Dad, there’s no need to become apoplectic. Just chill. . . You’re going to have to slow down. I can’t follow your train of thought–you’re spluttering too much. . . Take a deep breath. . . What? He poured poison in your ear? What for? . . . I know, I know–stupid question. So why are you telling me this? . . . You want me to get revenge? . . . But how can I be sure it’s really you? Can’t you show yourself? . . . That’s not how ghosts operate these days. Figures. . . So I have to go on a phone call. . . You always told me never to trust someone who tries to sell you something over the phone. . . Hey! There’s no need to shout. Keep your jaw attached to your skull, Jacob Marley. . . I guess that reference is a little too advanced for you. . . I know it’s irksome that she married your brother. . . yes, yes–and your murderer–I was just getting to that. . . how is it incest? He’s not her brother. . . That’s right–I forgot. We live in the Elizabethan world. . . Okay, so what’s the best way to kill him? . . . Any way that works. . . But just not while he’s praying. Thanks; I’ll make a note of that. . . Put on a play that recreates your death? Dad, don’t you think you’re being morbid? . . . Of course I want some evidence that he really did it. . . What do you have against Ophelia? She’s perfect for me. . . She’s daddy’s girl, eh? At least she’s not a windbag. . . All right, Dad. I’ll do what I can. But between you and me, I have a hunch this isn’t going to end well. . . Yes, I look forward to seeing you soon, too. I love you, Dad. Tell God I said hi. . . He changed his name to Satan? Well, you’ve got to admit it’s a more marketable alternative. . . Don’t go changing. . . Father, compose yourself! . . . Okay, sorry–bad joke. Keep in touch.
Here’s your phone, Horatio. No, no. It was a wrong number.
Thanks to Bob Newhart for the idea. His autobiography, I Shouldn’t Even Be Doing This!, is worth reading. I’ll share a couple of anecdotes from it in another post.
harmonioustew 