By WR Jones
I was very happy at the edge of this river, but now I’m going to stand near the edge and scream, shout, holler, bellow, snort, wheeze, sniffle, and cry; anything to get a deeper sounding voice.
I called a wrong number early this morning and reached some unknown woman. Well, I suppose someone knows her but I don’t. “Hey, time to get up.” “Who is this?” “It’s me you big dummy.” “Bonnie?”
Bonnie? What the devil do you mean Bonnie? So I sound like a Bonnie to you, you big cow I hope you never get back to sleep.
I need a deeper voice. I’ve had tele-asshole-marketers call, get me, and ask to speak to the man of the house. That has been insulting enough, but this Bonnie business put me over the edge.
I’ve just come out from my hotel room where I have been scratching the back of my throat with a stick I found in the parking lot. I’m thinking if I can gouge some grooves in the vocal cords maybe I will resonate.
Still, ever the optimist, maybe my voice will change when I grow out of adolescence.