By contributing writer John Peugeot

Well, the thing is, son, I can’t beat up Jimmy Prindley just because he called you a name. I mean I could beat him up, but I won’t.

He’s a lot younger and smaller than me and it just wouldn’t be fair.

He said that, did he?

How big is he, 3’6”?

Son, 65 pounds isn’t impressive unless you’re a stripper—you can tell him I said that.

What and you think I don’t know karate?

Let me tell you something, your daddy used to be able to kick some tail back in the day.

I told you that I don’t do it anymore, not that I can’t do it.

I know I used the past tense, it was a mistake.

Oh yeah, how tall?

In the Army, huh?

Well, Jimmy’s brother is probably overseas right now contracting a venereal disease from some drugged-out Thai hooker.

Yes, son, eventually all bullies turn into women without genitals.

Oh, it’s just something you get when you think you’re tougher than you actually are. Yeah, you’re right: little Jimmy will probably get a venereal disease one day, too.

It makes you foam at the mouth and you experience a burning sensation in your penis, but let’s hold off on that for right now.

Why don’t you give me Jimmy’s phone number and I’ll talk this whole thing out with him, man to man?

Okay, deal.

Now, listen and learn, my boy.

Hello, this is Mr. Kearns, can I please speak to Jimmy?

Yes, I’m aware of that.

Yes, I know that I sound considerably older than him.

Well, I wouldn’t say that….

Listen, I don’t think it’s automatically “creepy” of me to be calling an 8-year old boy. Okay, now you’re twisting words around.

Well, if you stopped harassing me, I’d tell you.

I’m sorry you feel that way.

I’m calling to ask Jimmy to stop calling my boy nasty names.

Well, I can certainly see where little Jimmy gets his potty-mouth from.

No, I am not insulting you.

No, I did not know Mr. Prindley is an ultimate fighter.

I have indeed.

No, no, that sounds pretty impressive.

Sarcasm, not sakrasm.

Okay, that wasn’t a “cockbreathy” tone.

That’s completely uncalled for.

Oh, yeah?

I think that’s a big threat from someone talking on a telephone, that’s what I think.

I have a car, too, I don’t see how that’s relevant.


Cars don’t have sexual orientations, pal.

Shut up.

You heard me just fine.

Well, you don’t even know who this is.

That IS right.

Yeah, I AM a smarty-pants and you know what ELSE, I could be anybody within a 500-mile radius of you. I could be the Governor of Delaware for all you know.

Yes, that is the case.

Umm… let’s see: Governor Gofuckyourself.

Now, what do you think of those apples?

…Yes, I do happen to know what caller ID is.

No, I’m not trying to make you mad “on purposes.”

Well, I’m sorry to hear that.

Okay, see right there, my son is NOT a “junksmeller.”

I don’t even think you know what a hereditary trait is.

You know what, screw you, dirtbag.

Yeah, I know what I said.

You can tell Mr. Prindley, if he so much as steps on my property or attempts to physically assault me, I will call the police faster than he can say, “I’m on Cops again,” got that?

That’s not a girly thing to threaten.

You’re a pussy, Pussy.

It’s got nothing to do with maturity.

This is getting us nowhere.

Oh, talk about maturity.

Okay, that is over the line.

Seriously, I can’t believe you just said that.

My mother is already dead, so that’s not even theoretically possible.

Frankly, I think it may even be a crime just to say that.

You know what, you better pray we never meet because I will publicly pound the dickens out of you.

First of all, that is not an acceptable term, okay…

…That’s not either.

How could I be a homosexual if I have a son?

You’ve got a wonderfully rich imagination, that’s what you’ve got.

I wouldn’t even waste my time.

I could too.

No, I’m not going to guess.


I don’t believe that for a second.

I told you once already that that is not an acceptable term.

You know what, you go to straight to hell Mrs. Prindley.