Ralphy was a quirky kid who lived just down the road from us.  When he was eight or nine, he’d call on the phone, asking to speak to Daddy.  We were always interested in hearing what he had to say.

“Mr. Bill?”

“Yeah, what’s on your mind today, Ralphy?”

“My mama just bought some of that new White Cloud Bathroom Tissue.  You should come try it!  Bye.”

Another call:

“Mr. Bill?”

“Yeah, Ralphy.  How are you today?”

“Fine.  I just got my report card.  I had all D’s and F’s.”

“No, Ralphy!  Surely not!”

“Yep, and I’ve got the papers to prove it!  Bye!”

Next call:

“Mr. Bill?”

“Hey, Ralphy.  What’s going on?”

“I wrote a poem in school today.  Want to hear it?”

“Why sure!”

“Rabbits love cribbage and cabbage.

Pigs love slibbage and slobbage.”

“That’s good, Ralphy.  What did you make on it?”

“An F.  It was supposed to be about the Flag.  Bye.”

We all hung on those phone calls like a pig in slobbage.