“Hello, again. This is Evan ‘Dick’ Lamanchuck…”
“And this is Dante ‘Dick’ Roverside, coming to you live from –”
“Say, has anybody ever told you that you sound a lot like Michaelangelo ‘Dick’ Tremonte.”
“I get that a lot – heh. But, no, I couldn’t possibly be Michaelangelo ‘Dick’ Tremonte, because he was fired from the station months ago and…and…so, there.”
“I don’t know. Same deep tremolo. Same insincere laugh. Are you sure you’re not Michaelangelo ‘Dick’ Tremonte?”
“Couldn’t be. If I was, it would mean that Big DICK management couldn’t see through a disguise that amounted to no more than growing a bushy moustache, dying my hair and wearing a trench coat. And, who would want to work for people who were so clueless?”
“Not only that, but it would mean a 32 per cent decrease in your salary.”
“Yeah. Heh. There would be that, too. So, all in all, good thing I’m not – who did you mistake me for?”
“Nice touch. So, anyway, like I said, this is Evan ‘Dick’ Lamanchuck and we’re coming to you live from Bombay, where our Breakfast in Bombay promotion has taken us.”
“We know that the city isn’t called ‘Bombay’ any more, so please stop sending us obscene letters, emails and text messages. We briefly considered calling the contest “Morning in Mumbai,” but we weren’t going to get a free meal out of that, so Breakfast in Bombay it is.”
“Yeah, times are tough. How tough? Originally, we wanted this contest to be called Breakfast in Barcelona.”
“Breakfast on the Barbary Coast.”
“Breakfast in Bali.”
“Breakfast in Brockton.”
“Brockton, Dick?”
“My uncle – the one I like – is from Brockton. He’s always trying to convince me to visit.”
“Not exactly a southern clime, is it, Brockton?”
“That’s why I didn’t bring it up at the promotions meeting.”
“Not to mention that you’d look like a complete doofus.”
“There was that, too.”
“So, uhh, yeah. The point of the promotion was to bring the morning crew to someplace warm. Oh, and a lucky Big DICK listener, too, I guess. You know, to get away from the cold, cruel Canadian winter for a week? So, here we are. It’s 140 degrees outside –”
“And, that’s real degrees, not that phony baloney Centigrade stuff.”
“That’s real freaking hot is what that is. I’ve had to change my shirt three times in the last five minutes! I can’t wait to get back to the hotel so I can bath in deodorant.”
“I thought that was the yaks being herded outside the studio.”
“How attached are you to that moustache, Dick?”
“Sorry.”
“Same groveling. I could swear you were Michaelangelo ‘Dick’ Tremonte’s twin – if the thought of more than one of him in the world wasn’t so repellant. Anyway, congratulations to the winner of C-D-I-K FM’s Breakfast in Bombay contest, Raspen Horkencoffer.”
“Owing to the cutbacks at the station, Raspen couldn’t actually be with us this morning, but we do have him on the telephone. How’s it going, Raspen?”
“…est dicks I have…good was winni…aste of time!”
“You’re breaking up, there, Raspen.”
“Must be his phone service.”
“Are you on a Rogers cell plan, Raspen?”
“…all excit…all I got…lousy tele…call? I book…eek off wor…idn’t even go anywhere!”
“Hey! It’s a recession, Raspen. Everybody is cutting back!”
“Isn’t it enough that we’re going to make you an honourary C-D-I-K FM Dick? You get an “I am Dick” t-shirt – that’s gotta make you happy.”
“…omplai…RTC. You w…et awa…is!”
“He’s gone.”
“Thanks for calling.”
“Just another satisfied C-D-I-K FM listener.”
“That wasn’t so much dead air as heavily tortured air.”
“And, we can do that now that the Geneva Conventions have been rendered ‘quaint.'”
“Okay. We’ll get back in touch with Raspen just as soon as we can figure out what the connection problems are.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
“Tell me about it! I wished I was away from the cold, and here I am: melting in a small box next to a yak crossing with you.”
“I know! Isn’t it great!”
“Same obstinate obtuseness. Are you sure you aren’t –”
“Positive.”
“Okay, then. You’re listening to 95 point two two, C-D-I-K FM – Big DICK Radio, coming to you live this morning from Bombay. We’ll be back after…Duran Duran? Sure, why not…?”