Rusty Mitchum

Rusty Mitchum

Here lately, all of the phone calls I’ve been gettin’ have been those blame robocalls. Man, you can’t have any fun with those things. Well, I guess you could call ‘em back, but who wants to do that?

Well, low and behold, an actual phone creature called this week. Phone creatures, for you out there that haven’t been readin’ this junk I write for very long are what I call those pesky telemarketers. Anywho, here’s how it went.

“Yellow,” I said into the receiver. No one said anything, so I figured it was goin’ to be a robocall, but I stayed with it. “Yellow,” I said again. Then I heard that little faint click and I was pretty sure it was goin’ to be a genuine phone creature.

“Mister Mitchum, this is William with,” the creature said, but I jumped in real quick-like and started talkin’ before he could tell me who he was with.

Let me stop here and tell you that I decided to talk to him in a voice that sounds like a cross between Carl off of “Slingblade,” and Mr. Darling off of “The Andy Griffith Show.”

“‘Low there William,” I said. “How you doin’? I guess you’s callin’ ‘bout that pickup truck I gots for sale. It’s a good ‘un.”

“Uh ... no sir ....”

“Yeah, it is, too. Oh it’s a little hard to start and it smokes like it’s burnin’ pine knots, but once you git ‘er cranked, she run good.”

“Uh, Mister Mitchum, I’m afraid you’re ....”

“Now William, I know three hunnerd dollars is a lot of money, so if’n you ain’t gots it, I’d be willin’ to do some tradin’.”

“Mister Mitchum ….”

“You see, William, I’ve been hankerin’ to git ahold of one of them there revolvin’ pistol guns. What I really want is one like ol’ John Wayne carried.”

“Mister Mitchum ….”

“You know who John Wayne is?”

“Now I know he had a lot of different guns in his picture shows, but the one I want is like the one he carried in one of his shows that not a lot of people seen.”

“Mister Mitchum ….”

“He wuz in this here picture show in the ‘70s called ‘Wyatt Earp verses The Sex Pistols.’ It wuz a punk rock western, but to tell you the truth, it wudn’t that good, but he did have a nice gun. You may have to goggle it on the compooter to see what kind of gun it wuz.”

“Mister Mitchum ….”

“It wuz filmed up at Dewey’s Grooms ol’ place up in Dallas. You know, the Longhorn Ballroom. You ever been to the Longhorn Ballroom?”

“Uh, no sir, but ….”

“Purdy good place to meet women, you know. You gots a woman, William?”

“Yes sir,’ he sighed

“Good. Every man deserves a good woman. I’ve had five. Weren’t all good though.”

“Mister Mitchum ….”

“First one died from eatin’ bad mushrooms. I shot the second one.”

“What? You shot her?”

“Yeah. She wouldn’t eat her mushrooms.” It got really quiet.

“Uh …Uh …,” he stammered.

“Har, Har!” I said. “I’s just a funnin’ you William. Say, this woman of yours gots her own teef?


“Yeah, teef. You know them thangs in your mouth you chew with.”

“Oh! Teeth! Uh, yes sir she has her own teeth.”

“That’s good. That’s real good. Last woman I married didn’t have her own teef. Well, when I met her she did, but I found out later they wuz her daddy’s teef. She’d borrowed ‘em so she could snatch her a man, I guess. They’s nice teefs, too. ‘Cept for that little gap in the middle. What kind of idiot buys a set of false teef with a gap in the middle? That gap came in handy though. She kept the butt of her cigarette stuck in there.

“Anywho, we gots married later that night and she took me home to meet her folks. That’s when I found out about her teef. Her daddy made her give ‘em back. Changed her whole appearance. First time I saw her gummin’ on a chicken leg I almost puked.”

“I’ve got go, Mister Mitchum!” the creature said loudly.

“Oh, OK, William. Come on by when you git a chance. I’ll be here all day. Well, ‘cept I’ll be gone for a little while. I gots to go git Momma some snuff, but that won’t take long. If’n you find one of them John Wayne pistols, holler at me and we’ll do some swappin’.”

“Yes sir,” he said hurriedly and hung up.

I slapped my knee and chuckled. I turned, and there stood you know who with her arms crossed.

“What?” I asked.

“Seriously, what is wrong with you?” Janet asked.

“Heh heh,” I chuckled. “You know, if I died right now, I’d die a happy man.”

She just looked at me. “Don’t tempt me.”

Rusty Mitchum lives in New Harmony, Texas, where he writes a regular column for The Lindale News and Times. He says the only reason he writes is to keep the voices away.