A voicemail I received last night:
Brownsox: Dubs, it's Brownsox, what's up? I miss you buddy. And man, we are... we are dying here, because...there are blueberries in my beer! Listen, here's Quantum, he'll tell you the same thing. Quantum!
Quantum: There are blueberries in mah beer!
Brownsox: Do you see what I mean? This is what we have to work with Dubs! Come out to the East Coast so you can help us! Because we need your assistance. We love you, Dubs baby.
Quantum (from background): They're in mah beer!
Brownsox: They're in his beer! Say it again.
Quantum: They're in mah beer!
Brownsox: They're in his beer. Help us, Dubs, help us. We love you. Buh-bye.
I..... I don't really know what else I can say about this. I just wish you could hear how earnestly sad they are, and slightly befuddled.
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1 comment:
This is great. It reminds me of the answering machine messages that would occasionally be left by Tim's friends at the house.
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