A girl phoned me the other day and said, 'Come on over. There's nobody home.' I went over. Nobody was home.

I love Slim-Jims so much, I once called their hotline. I swear to God. I told them, "I got your next billion-dollar idea." And the lady on the other end goes, "Oh, do tell." I said, "Alright. Men love beer and Slim-Jims. So, what you need to do, is drill a hole in the middle of that Slim-Jim...so we can suck beer through it and take a bite of Slim Jim! [Audience cheers] Yeah. GENIUS!...She hung up on me.

I made myself boneless and amenable. I spent weekends willing the landline next to my bed to ring. Often it didn’t. Then he would call, before midnight, to ask if I was still up, so he could visit and leave before dawn.

I hung up. It was a good start, but it didn’t go far enough. I ought to have locked the door and hidden under the desk.

On the morning when I moved into my new office, when the telephone rang for the first time I eagerly picked up the receiver to find out who the caller could be, only to discover that the person on the other end of the line wanted to speak to Edwina Currie.

The message was brief and straight to the point. When I woke up I shared the dream with my mum. We forgot about it. But in less than a year, one of my ex managers called to tell me about one lady who was interested in working with me after he had sent my songs to her.

She's online with her friends, and little boys are starting to call the house. Oh, my God, we had a kid call the house at two in the morning. Oh, I lost it. 'Cause first of all, I'm off in La-la land with Shania Twain in the mountains somewhere. I hear a phone ring and I'm like "Who's got a phone in the mountains??" So when I realize it's my phone, I'm already a little miffed, so I go, "Hello!" And this little voice says "Uh . . . is Emily there?" And I go, "Dude, if you have a brain in your skull, you will hang this phone up right now!" Click. Then my wife turns to me and goes, "Bill, you've got to be nice." And I go, "No, ma'am. "Nice" stops at midnight!"

I rang her and left a message identifying myself and giving an impression of urgency without actually saying anything concrete. Never record anything you wouldn’t want turning up on YouTube is my motto.

I'm the last person he called that night. I wonder, how many girls didn't answer before he got to fat freshman me? Am I in his phone as Schumer? Probably. But I was here, and I wanted to be held and touched and felt desired, despite everything. I wanted to be with him. I imagined us on campus together, holding hands, proving, "Look! I am lovable! And this cool older guy likes me!" I can't be the troll doll I'm afraid I've become.

I met a girl who works at the Double Tree front desk, she gave me her phone number. It's zero. I tried to call her from here and some other woman answered. I said "You sound older!"

Hi there," squeaked a precocious little voice, "you are speaking to Chloe Fusakawa, and I have just learned how to answer the phone.

We had this row and we were shouting at each other. I said, "Well, phone the police", and she said she would. I thought she was only joking. She didn't talk to them, just hung up. An hour later the coppers got here. She begged them to go away, but they wouldn't.

Sometimes I don't get you,' I said.
She didn't even glance at me. She just smiled toward the television and said, 'You never get me. That's the whole point.

Professor Feynman?” “Hey! Why are you bothering me at this time in the morning?” “I thought you’d like to know that you’ve won the Nobel Prize.” “Yeah, but I’m sleeping! It would have been better if you had called me in the morning.” — and I hung up.