I wasn't mocking you, mitch.

But by the way, I really don't appreciate you playing that 911 tape. It's kind of an embarassing chapter of my life, and it's just not appropriate subject matter to air out here on XOC.

That guy that called 911 on me was totally out of line. First of all, I'm 5'9", not 6'9", and I'm not "all black". It was a dark night, and I'm very tan, and yes, I am a rather hairy person. It's not my fault, I'm half Iranian, half Scottish. That's like hairy to the power of ten. I had my shirt off, because it was a hot night. I was playing a game of basketball at my cousin's house across the street and our ball rolled into his yard. His sensor light came on and he looked through the window and started freaking out. I just stood there, petrified, because he was like "Phyllis! There's a sasquatch in the yard! A goddamn sasquatch in the yard!" I just stood there, frozen, thinking "Fuck, I'm in the yard. If there's a sasquatch nearby, I'm fucked." I didn't know whether to play dead or what, so I ducked down and hid in the bushes. I heard him call someone on the phone. When I realized he was talking about me, I got up out of the bushes, and just stood there, looking at him, like "Fuck you." What an insensitive asshole! It's like, yeah, I'm hairy. Big fuckin' deal. You gotta make a sasquatch joke? You don't even know me, ya fuckin' jerk. I've been putting up with sasquatch jokes since I was in the second grade. Grow the fuck up.

So I went back to my game and my cousin's scoring one after the other. I'm on his ass like a fly on stink and he can't get a shot in. The next thing I know a truck pulls up and someone's yelling "Stand clear of the sasquatch, sir!" and I'm like "What's with you fucking people? Seriously!" Then I feel a sharp pain in my neck. Everything goes dark...darker than a black steer's tuches on a moonless prairie night. There was no bottom.

When I awake, I'm in a veterinarian's office, and some adolescent asshole is on his cell phone saying "Mr. Nimoy?....False alarm, sir.....no....human....yes, we're sure, DNA tests....no....some kind of half-breed...." I'm like "Where am I, dude?" And I feel another hot pain in my neck. Takin' a dart in the neck hurts, dude. Everything goes all blurry. I'm awake, but I just don't care. The cell phone guy sticks a couple of Benjamins in my shirt pocket, drives me to Griffith Park, and right before we get to the observatory, the car door flies open, he says "Tuck and roll, Bigfoot!" and before I can say "Fuck you, Topher" he pushes me out the door without even slowing down. Bloodied and bruised, I sleep a few hours on the side of the road, then go to the nearest cell phone and call my wife.

Fuck it, dude. Easiest $200 I ever made.