How is it that telemarketers always know the worst time to call?

Dinnertime, sexy time, watching a movie, playing with the kids… doesn’t matter to these phone calling phoneys.  There must be some sort of alert system that we don’t know about.

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of our apartments and homes lay an infrared receiver that sends a distress signal to the telemarketer’s underground base, flashing red with panic and hurry as they scramble to their phones, chanting “OH HEY HEY WE NEED TO CALL MRS. INTRADER HER DOG JUST POOPED ON THE CARPET WHILE THE DOORBELL IS RINGING HURRY.”

It’s time to stand up unwanted solicitors.

And we know just the way… revenge is sweet.


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