Hot Home: Mid-Mod, Pool, Sex Dungeon. Owners May Have Been Abducted by Aliens
When telemarketers call, you have a few choices: hang up, get angry, or make it weird. I choose to make it weird, always.
“Michael, my name is Kevin. I’m a local real estate agent. Did you know your neighbors on Superior Avenue recently sold their home?”
“Nope. I hadn’t heard.”
“Well, that’s probably because they sold their home in a hurry.”
I know what Kevin is getting at. The local real estate market is hot, hot, hot. But I have a policy about calls like this. Basically, I fuck with telemarketers for shits & giggles. I come by my prankster ways honestly. My grandfather fucked with telemarketers. He once kept a telemarketer from the Arthur Murray Dance School on the line for an hour, before telling the salesman he didn’t have any legs.
“What do you mean they sold their home in a hurry, Kevin?”
“Within a day of listing, they had a dozen offers. That’s the kind of service we—”
“A day?”
“That’s right. We move fast. Now—”
“Wait a minute, Kevin. Why would they sell so fast?”
“It’s a hot market, and with the right realtor—”
“Do you think they were abducted by aliens? Is that why they had to sell in a hurry?”
The line go…
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