Hogspore News:

Old geezers in Jeeps

By Clet Litter as told to Bob Simpson

     Hope you had a great Independence hollerday. We had us a parade sporting pretty gals riding floats and old geezers in jeeps pulling the floats through town. There were fireworks on Independence Day once it got dark in the town rectangle. Folks brought their own fireworks too, mostly made in countries that hate us, but they did look nice. I even got to see a few o’er the ramparts.

     I wanted to be a good citizen for the pet population, coping with the loud noises. I read about an idea where you take the money you’d normally spend on explosives and buy dry pet food for the local animal shelter. I tried it, but no luck. I just couldn’t get the dry pet food to light.    

     Junior Bickum was telling me about his long phone conversation with what he calls a robot customer service rep. “I don’t mind talking to a robot if it’s efficient. I got nothing against robots. Some of my best friends are robots. In fact, some robot customers come into the hardware store to buy oil. I’m not robophobic. If I hear somebody brand them as bots, I’ll call them out on it.”

     When he kept referring to robots, I sorta backed away. We haven’t seen any robots around here for years, ever since that homeless family living down at Clear Creek left the area.

     He probably couldn’t find anyone to tell this story, cept me. He said, “Clet, the robot asked for my name and then my date of birth. The machine, I feel disrespectful calling it IT, didn’t recognize the numbers. I had to enter the date on the keypad. The machine wanted my telephone number. I thought it was getting a little one-sided with the questions, so I asked for his name. He said, ‘Let me connect you to a mortal. Please hold.’

     The next voice sounded human. David asked me for my name. I knew better than to say that I already gave it. The robot didn’t take notes to pass on to the mortal. David wanted to know my date of birth and phone number. He kept going, asking where I lived previously and my mother’s maiden name. Then he asked me what kind of ice cream I liked. I hung up before he could ask me what I was wearing. I figure it was the mortal’s way of trying to teach me not to bypass the robot again.”   

     I asked, “Did you get your problem solved?”

     “I never had a problem; I only called the company, so you’d have some news to write.” Editor’s note: That’s known as breaking the fourth wall, not that the readers are walls. We respect our readers and are just explaining the literary technique. We mean no offense in implying you were walls, or maybe short hedges.  

     Here’s something from Chief Sitting Quietly on his grandson. “That boy, Running On MT, is not the sparkiest flint stone in camp. He’s as useless as a smoke signal in a dust storm.”

     Contact at Bobsimpson1947@yahoo.com. You know you wanna.

About Author