Since I didn't have a candy wrapper to help me with the bad connection I was about to have, I resorted to using vocal sound effects. When Agent Carson picked up, I started my performance. "Agent... Agent Carson," I said, panting into the phone.

"Yes, Charley." She seemed unimpressed, but I wasn't about to stop now.

"I--I know who the kshshshshshsh are."

"I'm a little busy right now, Davidson. What is a Ksh, and why do I care?"

"I'm sorry. My kshshsh... is kshshsh... ing."

I repeat. What is a Ksh? And why do I care if it is ksh-ing?"

She was a tough one. I knew I should have waited and bought a Butterfinger at the Jug-N-Chug. Those wrappers crakled like Rice Krispies on a Saturday morning. "You aren't listeni--kshshsh."

"You're really bad at this."

"Bank ro-ksh-ers. I know who they kshshsh."

"Charley, if you don't cut this crap out."

I hung up and turned off my phone before she could figure out what I was trying not to tell her and call back.

Darynda Jones

Mots clés humour charley-davidson agent-carson

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