The other day I noted to no one in particular that it had been a while since a telemarketer had called me. Since tormenting them is the closest thing I have to a hobby, the absence was eating away at me, a little, kind of like having a minor case of flesh eating bacteria. It's annoying when the skin sloughs off, but, eh.

So, imagine my delight when I realized that my telemarketer drought had come to an end:

Phone: ring a ding, ring a ding
Me: Hello
Telemarketer: ....
Me: HELLO!
Telemarketer: Hello. May I please speak to the woman of the house?
Me: Uh...yeah. Hang on.
Telemarketer: .....
Me: *pausing, then trying to actually mimic a woman's voice, but as always, just sounding like a crappy drag queen trying to be operatic* Hallloooooo!
Telemarketer: ..... Hi. I'm with the National Family Association and I'm conducting a survey which should take about 90 seconds. Are you available to answer a few questions?
Me: Why, yeeeeeeeeees! *voice warbling*
Telemarketer: .... Great. Are there any children under the age of 14 living in your household?
Me: Yes, indeeeeeeeedy! My lovely daughter, Daaaaaisy.
Telemarketer: .... Ok, then you've probably noticed the lack of quality family programming on television blah blah blah...

At this point, I'm thrilled that the telemarketer has not noticed my obvious (virtually throbbing!) masculinity, but I'm a little confused by the pauses before every one of her replies.

Telemarketer: *continuing* blah blah blah. Would you like to help Hollywood produce more family oriented programming?
Me: *dropping back into my normal manly voice* Nope.
Telemarketer: .... Ok, but we should let Hollywood know that they should be more responsible. blah blah blah blah blah. Would you like more information?
Me: No way. I think you're a computer.
Telemarketer: .... Ok, thank you for your time tonight. Have a good evening.
Me: Screw you.

It was a stupid automated voice response system. I was pulling my stupid shtick with a computer as a straight man. Granted, this wasn't my best material, but I was looking forward to the eventual argument we were going to have about whether or not I really was the woman of the house. I love that bit!

Now that computers have ruined the burgeoning field of telemarketer comedy, what's next? Synthetic non-slip banana peels? Virtual cream pies?

I smell apocalypse.