Ring ring! Hello telephone? It's me, Christopher! I'd like to place a phone call, please! Please call, "telephone repairman."
Telephone? Did you hear me? Please buzz the repairman. Did I not ring you loud enough? Ring ring! RIIIIING!
Oh, rats. These modern telephones! Sometimes I wish we were back in the days where a telephone was nothing more than a rough, taut rope you tightened around another man's windpipe. Things were so different back then. But were they better? Those are the questions faced by all men, back to the cavemen. Back in those days a telephone was nothing more than a mound of dirt pounded into a thin copper wire by the dinosaurs, then strung up on poles, then installed into plastic receivers on two ends (the "telephoner" and the "telefone victim") and used to transmit signals carrying speech from one receiver from the other so that the two might have a conversation in different locales. Now, telephones are objects that we speak to and they heft goods for us from large warehouses. Lumber. Gravel. Sand. Dirt. Mulch, different mulches. Sheets of iron.
You're ringing! I knew it, telephone. I knew you had it in you. Do you have lumber for me? Is this about lumber? I knew you loved me. Love love love. Answer! Answer, telephone! Telephone, I want you to unhook. Stop your ringing and allow me to speak to the lumber-man on the other end. Telephone? Please, telephone. Please listen to me. This is hammering upon my poor self-esteem, like a thin sheet of hammered iron. Please, telephone. Listen to me. Bring me lumber. Please.