A Telephone Call From Pornland

‘Why the hell did you go and post that for?’

I took another look at the handset. I wasn’t certain I’d picked up the right phone, despite the fact it had been ringing.

‘This is XXXXXXXX,’ I said. ‘Are you sure you have the right number?’

‘Of course I’ve got the right number. And I read what you wrote about us. The problem with you, Chip Dale, is that you were stupid enough to include your website address on your CV. I’m just glad I read your blog today and saw how you totally misrepresented our interview.’

‘Ah,’ I said, the thing clicking in the mental place where things go click. ‘You’re the bloke from the porn publishers!’

‘Yes, that’s me and I’ve rang you to set some things straight.’

‘I bet you did,’ I said, as quick as a flash with the patented Chip Dale double entendre.

‘Now why couldn’t you have said something like that yesterday?’ he asks. ‘You might have been in a job if you could come up with that sort of stuff instead of lying about our waving pictures of women with vegetables made out of rubber. And it wasn’t an A2 display it was A3. And there were lots of breasts. There were three.’

‘Depends on your definition of breasts,’ I replied. ‘That's more than I’m used to.’

‘But it’s hardly lots.’

‘Lots to me. Would you be happy if I changed it to read more than a handful?’

‘Listen,’ said the caller. ‘I demand that you change that story to reflect the facts.’

‘I will not hide the truth,’ I told him. ‘And to be honest I’m surprised you even bothered ringing. I thought you’d be too busy writing strap lines about dear Brenda and her famously large breasts.’

‘So you refuse to remove the lies?’

‘I certainly refuse,’ I said. ‘It’s not as though I’ve mentioned your company by name.’

‘But you’ve mentioned our publications. Do you want our readers to get the wrong idea?’

‘Listen mate,’ said I. ‘I'm pretty sure that the readers of Hairy Hungarians already have the wrong idea about a few things and I’m hardly going to disillusion them over the matter of the size of your flip charts. If you really want my story changing that desperately, couldn’t you just get a hit squad of naked porn actresses to come round and beat me senseless with their rubber cucumbers?’

The voice on the phone went silent for a long second. ‘Who said we haven’t?’ he asked and the line went dead.