Images via Getty and Shutterstock. Illustration by Bobby Finger.

Hey, this is a nice little place. Have you ordered? You sounded pretty upset on the phone. Is everything alright? Ah. So what I’m hearing is that you think I’m cheating on you, is that accurate? What are your sources? My Twitter? I tweeted it? Let me see about that.

Okay, here it is. Yep, I’m seeing what you’re referring to. “My bitch outta town, so I’m with her sis.” Now, I’m not—I can’t concede that I even wrote that. I don’t have a memory of writing it. At this time I’m not aware of any affairs that I may or may not have had. How would I have tweeted it? I won’t confirm that I touched my phone at that time. And you need to touch your phone to tweet. With fingers. Do I have fingers? Can you tweet without fingers? I don’t know, I’m going to have to direct you to Twitter, they’d know more about whether or not you can tweet without fingers and hands, or whether my account was hacked or whatnot.

Am I saying I was hacked? I don’t know, it certainly is a possibility, or within the realm of possibility. I’m not going to say I wasn’t hacked. No, I don’t have evidence; what kind of evidence would I have? Let me just say this: I’m not currently aware that I was hacked. But I can’t rule it out for certain, which is why— Marla, let me finish—which is why I would direct any questions about whether or not I was hacked to Twitter.

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Oh, hi, thank you. I’m going to have the pulled pork sandwich. You’re out of pulled pork? And you don’t serve sandwiches? What do you have? Fine. Three cheese danishes. Stack them up high. And a diet coke… That’s what the president drinks.

But the tweet, I remember this now, yep, now this makes sense. So, when I wrote “bitch,” I didn’t mean you, Marla. I’m referring to—you know my upstairs neighbor, Bill? The one with the curled up hand? He has this dog, a jack russell, who is just a riot. So “bitch,” that word, I didn’t mean it like bitch; I meant it like bitch. What did I mean by “her sis?”— WAITER? WAITER I’VE CHANGED MY MIND ABOUT MY ORDER PLEASE.

Ahem. Hi. I just remembered that I’m allergic to pastry cheese. What else do you have? Okay, I’ll just have one bag of corn muffins and an orange juice. Whatever kind of bag you have. A shopping bag? Sure, fine.

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Get your phone out of my face, woman. What are you showing me? “@marlasis69 can i see ur tit”. I wrote this? Where do you get this stuff, Marla? Anonymous sources? What are you, the fake news New York Times, ha ha ha? I said, what are you, the fake news—Oh, you got it from my Twitter. There’s more?

@marlasis69 cum over

@marlasis69 r u awake

@marlasis69 im on top of ur sis rn thinkin abt u

@marlasis69 do u like hockey

So for these, I’m going to have to direct any questions to Twitter, or @marlasis69, whoever that is. Probably a Russian bot—the smartest bots there are. Oh, it’s your sister? See, if—ha ha—if I was seeing her, wouldn’t I know that?

What happened to my foot? I’m not aware that anything’s wrong with my foot. Oh, this boot cast? It’s not a cast, it’s a snow boot. Marla— Marla, can I clarify? Will you please let me finish a sentence for once? When I said snow boot, I meant a boot that can stand in snow. I know it is not currently snowing. But has it never snowed? Are you saying I shouldn’t be prepared for anything? But yes, I broke my foot, when your sister ran over it with her car.

It’s a joke! Can’t you take a joke, Marla? Always literal with you. Oh, but how did I break it actually?

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[He takes a red post-it note out of his pocket and reads it.]

So, I’m being told I can’t take any more questions on that topic for now. Yep, sorry. I’m going to have to refer you to my podiatrist. His name is Bobby Cannoli, he works on an island in the middle of the Potomac River—very hard to reach. Again, Bobby Cannoli B-O-B-B-Y C-A-N-N-O-L-Y, with a Y, like how’d you expect, he’s a podiatrist, he works on an island. That’s all I have on that for now.

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Waiter, I’ll take these muffins to go.