Wrong Foot

I apologize to all telemarketers that call my house wanting me to give them money in some form or another.  Either out of the goodness of my heard to help the poor starving children in some third world hell hole like La Jolla California, or think I might actually buy the product they are hawking after a chat on the tele.  "Replacement windows?  How can I lose?!!"

You see, you are doing it wrong when you say, "Good evening!  Is New Jovian there?"

No.  Mr. Thunderbolt is here on the phone talking to you.  And I don't know you from Adam's off ox.  I'd terminate this call politely had you remembered the Mister part, Chuckie.  Now you got my back up.  And I might be salty from this point on, to you and yourn.

Am I turning into a crotchety old bastard?  Perhaps.  Get off my lawn.


Wait!  Did I post something like this before?  The dementia is creeping up on ME, too, I think.