What the fuck are you looking at? Fuck you. Do you know who I am? Let me ask you a question, are you an inventor? Do you like to invent things?
Well, you don’t invent things anymore, asshole. You know why? Because all I’ve got to do is make one fucking call and you’re done, no one funds your work ever again. That’s all it would take. One fucking call, and the closest you come to an invention is when your frying pan has to double as a bedpan ‘cause you can’t afford both. One fucking call. That’s it.
Oh, you’re not an inventor? More of a scientist then? Not anymore you’re not. ‘Cause all I have to do is make one fucking call and your science days are over. I just pick up the phone, “Hello, President of the National Academy of Science? Former president Alex Bell here.”
Bam! Just like that, one fucking call, and the next time you set foot in the Academy of Science is in a fucking jar. That’s right, when they literally set your foot in a jar as an exhibit because of the crazy warts you develop when you can’t afford shoes anymore ‘cause no one will hire you as a scientist. And all it would take, is one fucking call.
What’s that? Not a scientist either? More into forensics? Fascinating. I’ve actually got a forensics related question for you: how many fucking calls would I need to make to end your career in forensics?
Would it be just one fucking call? That’s what I think. I think it would go like this, “Hello FBI? This is the guy who invented the metal detector in order to find the bullet in US President James Garfield’s body. Yeah, no sweat, anyway I got this asshole here, and I need you to make sure that the next time he’s allowed inside a crime scene, is when he’s wearing a fucking body bag.” Click. How many fucking calls was that? One? That’s what I fucking thought.
Not into forensics either, huh? You know what, it doesn’t matter. You should just leave the country ‘cause here’s the deal, everybody knows me here, EVERYBODY, and I could just make one fucking call, and you’d be finished. Canada, same fucking thing, one fucking call. And it wouldn’t even have to be long distance either, ‘cause they wave phone charges for national treasures like myself.
Yep, you’re gonna have to go somewhere else, and wherever you do go don’t plan on taking a boat, ‘cause you see this device over here? Well, all I have to do is pick up this cone thing, put it to my ear, turn this wheel a few times, speak into this other cone thing, and those sound waves will be converted to electrical signals, which will be transmitted across a wire to a similar device and converted back to sound, and that sound, will sound something like this, “Hello operator? Could you connect me to every port in North America? Just tell them it’s the inventor of the hydroplane. Oh, and while you’re at it, please connect me to every airport too. Just mention my design for a manned tetrahedral kite, which was essential to the invention of the airplane. Thanks, sweetheart.” And voila. That’s all it would take. One fucking call, and you’re swimming to Europe.
And when you get there, here’s the thing, I hate to sound like a broken record—by the way the record player, not invented by me, just vastly improved by me—but when you get to Europe, don’t even think about starting a fucking family. ‘Cause all I have to do is make one fucking call, real simple, just say “Hey Europe, this is Alex Bell, the former president of the American Eugenics Institute and architect of America’s forced sterilization campaigns of the 1930s.
Yeah. Annnyway, there’s this fucking asshole who’s swimming over there right now, and I’ve determined him to be a defective variety of the human race. So, yeah, if you could just cut his fucking nuts off. Thanks.” And there you go. One fucking call and you’re a eunuch.
One. Fucking. Call.