On December 25, 2008, at 1:01 AM Central Standard Time, I received this text message:
"Hey."
Inconspicuous, unassuming, utterly normal. The only oddity is that it came from a number I did not have in my phone, and that I did not recognize. I was a bit wary, but it's not as if this hasn't happened before. People have gotten my number before I've gotten there's, after all. Not a world-shattering occurrence.
I answered.
"Hi?"
The reply was prompt.
"I got ur number from my friend no name"
I wasn't sure if this person was referring to whoever they received my number from as "no name," myself as "no name," or maybe the text was some sort of weird, backwards grammatical reference to THEMSELF as "no name." In any case, me, not being a half-dead monkey full of so much morphine that I could not tell you the cardinal directions, figured out on my own that whoever this person is, they probably did get my number from "a friend." None of the questions I had were, as of yet, answered.
I quickly texted back.
"Who are you?"
Short, concise, to the point. I don't think there's any room to be ambiguous here. The obvious response to this question is a name, preferably a full name, right?
"A really horny girl."
...Uh...Okay. Not what I was expecting, nor hoping for. I'm sure that Hammond alone has more than enough horny girls, this barely narrowed the possibilities of who this ghost of a person could possible be (unless "REALLY horny" is some sort of demographic that I'm completely overlooking.) In any case, I figured at this point that the phantom texter was bent on playing coy with me, so I would have to play coy back.
"That sounds like a personal problem." I punched into my phone.
"I think u can fix it tho"
This person, whoever he or she may be, has much more faith in my abilities than they obviously should. About the only way I can help you if you're just too horny to adequately function is to talk to you until you crash into some sort of spiraling depression.
"I was never very good at fixing other people's problems." I responded. Might have something to do with the fact that everyone keeps coming to me about how they crash into spiraling depression...Whatever.
"Haha if u told me bout your dick u could."
Well, the Phantom Texter was no longer playing around. This person was a consumer, first and foremost, and they were obviously on the Demand side of Supply and Demand. And what can I say...I'm a pleaser. The Ghost Writer came right out and very bluntly asked for something, and by God, I was going to honor their wish as is my duty.
"Alright then. My penis, like any other penile organ, is made up of flexible tissue formed around the seminiferous tubule that leads from the prostate and testicles to the urethra where urine and semen is expelled. It regulates the fluid expulsion through the vas deferens. I could go on but that's really leading into a talk about the testes, and you didn't ask about those."
I tried to hit as many high points as I could in the message. I felt pretty proud of it, a good course in Sex-Ed conducted entirely through this wonderful technology, I thought. The Phantom Texter did not respond for a while, no doubt taking in all this information I had just fed them.
"Ha u just r a pussy I guess."
I was shocked. I was apalled, and most of all, I was heartbroken. I must not have been nearly as good a teacher as I assumed, because even though I thought I had just taught them all about the penis, poor Ghost Writer here thought I had just given a lecture on the vagina! Oh anonymous messenger, I am sorry I've failed you. I was so shell-shocked at my epic failure that I fell back onto my defense mechanism: sarcasm.
"An expert analysis." I replied with venom and vitriol, making fun of poor Ghost Writer's inability to grasp simple concepts, when really I knew, deep down in my heart of hearts, that I was to blame. Phantom Texter did not respond after that, undoubtedly completely shaken by my horrible insult on their intelligence. If only I could go back in time...
There was a long silence, for over two months from the number. And then, long after I had forgotten about it, I received another text message from the very same address, not much longer than an hour ago.
"Hey this is justin."
Color me confused! "Justin" doesn't sound like the name of a really horny girl at all! What's going on here? Was the Phantom Texter so irrevecobally confused by my failed lecture that she accidentally got a sex change?
I had to get to the bottom of this.
"Who is Justin?"
Bam! That's called journalism, kids. Asking the hard-hitting questions, and getting the REAL facts to write the REAL story. There was a short pause before the next - and as of this writing, final - text message:
"Nevermind don't text back ill get in trouble cause im grounded."
Well, that's certainly a good reason not to text someone. The only problem is that "Justin" (Possibly "Justina" before the operation) is the one who contacted me, not vice-versa. Very suspicious! I want to press on, but I don't want to get the poor boy/girl/it in trouble with its parents if it is, indeed, grounded.
I posted this note on Facebook along with the number that all this came from, asking anyone if it was one of their friends who I had accidentally tricked into a penis. Apparently, the area code is from Tupelo, Mississippi. This is interesting considering that I live in Louisiana, hundreds of miles away from this town. I've never been there in my life, so the identity of whoever this is eludes me.
I've left them alone for awhile, but now I ask you, friends, Romans, countrymen, what do you think I should do to pursue this? I find this far too interesting to just let go.
