I’m calling from Israel and I’m really upset.
Eric, how could you give my phone number to that Janet Jackson? Excuse me, but you were invading my privacy, and I’ve been trusting you all along!
She’s impossible, calls every second minute.
I told her I’m not interested.
She’d asked for my son. Can you believe this! How far can somebody go just for that sacred “rating”? He’s married, they’re expecting, who is this lady anyway, who is she thinking herself?
Is she the most promising candidate for Presidency in your country?
Well, my due respects, but I’m not supposed to interfere in USA’s internal affairs – as illustrated by your present one’s non-involvment – your goverment has no influence on ours.
Is she the very lady who solved the mystery surrounding AIDS/Cancer/the Iraqi bacterial weapons/nuclear hideaways?
No Nobel Prize winner either?
What is this SuperBowl she was screaming about?
Couldn’t hear what she was offering in it? Popcorn? Ice-cream?
And me eternally on diet.
And what kind of “half-time”? Is she thinking herself God on Earth? I’m not the one to settle for less than Full-time, fulltime of everything from now to eternity, baby.
Oh Eric, Why did you give her my phone number, why?
You want to call me back later on? No Way! You cannot call me back, in my house and all over the country and region the phone lines got burned, could not stand the stress, no line left, no cellular phone either, no Internet broad band – we sit here in darkness and all I want, up to my last breast (you see, even the speller got ruined), is to know, Why, Oh Eric, Why?
If you wish to repent, if you really want me to forgive you – give her Arik Sharon’s phone number, will you?