Nancy: Uh ….. hello?
Hilly: Pearl, it’s me. Hilly.
Nancy: Oh, hi, Hilly ….
Hilly: Did I wake you up? Shit, Pearl. It’s damned near eleven o’clock.
Nancy: Well, I was sort of … sleeping.
Hilly: What the hell? Are you OK?
Nancy: Be right back, Hill. I gotta go puke.
Nancy: OK, I’m back.
Hilly: What’s up? You got flu, or some shit?
Nancy: No, but I feel like warmed over shit. Sven was over last night, and I got to sleep about two hours ago.
Hilly: Look, this is an emergency. I’m calling from Iowa. Caucus-Schmaukus! If I have to deal with one more dopey bastard who smells like pig shit, I’m gonna lose my mind. Whoa, did you say Sven was over last night? I want details, Sister. I’m dying here in the land of corn.
Nancy: Hilly, please. I gotta go puke again. Can we do this another time?
Hilly: Jesus, Pearl.
Nancy: OK. I’m back.
Hilly: So, how did it go with Sven?
Nancy: OK, but I may have to puke again.
Hilly: Dammit, Pearl. I’m about to become the Commander in Chief of the goddamned Armed Forces, and you’re telling me I have to wait while you puke?
Nancy: Sorry. I think I’ll be alright.
Hilly: So, what went down with Sven?
Nancy: I called him up and, as usual, we had to sort out the price. I told him that I wanted him to bring the Viking helmet with him. You know … the one with the horns.
Hilly: I freakin’ love that helmet.
Nancy: Brrrrrrrrp Well, we drank all the Cristal – must have been six bottles – then we smoked a couple handfuls of Panama Red.
Hilly: Sounds normal to me. That made you sick?
Nancy: No. After we finished all the Panama Red, he reached into his back pack and dragged out some Mead.
Hilly: Mead? What the hell is that?
Nancy: I’m not sure. He said it was a Viking drink, or some shit?
Hilly: Was it any good?
Nancy: Shit, Hilly. I don’t remember. I think we drank four bottles of the stuff. He kept saying “Weed and Mead … Perfect together!” I was all screwed up. Next thing I knew we were playing the “Ride ‘em Cowgirl” game.
Hilly: You’re killing me here. Did he leave the helmet on?
Nancy: Is there any other way? You know … with the horns and shit, it was like riding a bull.
Hilly: Oh … my … God… Did he leave his boots on too?
Nancy: Is the Pope Catholic? BRRRRRPPP. Sorry, Hilly. I really gotta puke again.
Nancy: OK. I’m back. So, how are you doing, Hilly? I see on TV that you’re knockin’ your ass out in Iowa. Must be a bitch.
Hilly: I’m dying here, Pearl. Every four years, we have to come out to this shithole and pretend that we give even a rat’s ass about the pig shit covered jerks in this state. Hell, every goddamned place you go, it’s either goddamned corn, or goddamned pig shit.
Nancy: Jeez, sorry to hear that, Hilly. I wish I could help.
Hilly: Actually, I called because I think you can help. Remember when you were in Iowa?
Nancy: Hell, I might have been in Iowa. Damned if I can remember.
Hilly: Yes you were! You told me about it. You said that a couple years ago your limo got a flat tire in Iowa, and some strapping farm boy named Luke fixed your tire. Remember?
Nancy: Really, Hilly, I don’t think I remember. BRRRRRPPP.
Hilly: Sure you do. You said that, after he fixed your flat, you went with him to his truck and drank a shitload of corn whiskey from a jar. Now do you remember?
Nancy: Oh yeah. Now, I remember. Definitely. When he dropped his pants, he showed me what he called his corn cob. He said that if it were covered with niblets, it would have won the blue ribbon at the County Corn Festival. He damned near impaled me on that thing. It was freakin’ awesome.
Hilly: Well, that’s really why I called. I was wondering if you might have gotten Luke’s phone number. I’m clawing the walls here.
Nancy: Jesus, Hilly. I don’t remember. I think I have it somewhere. Sorry. I’ll be right back.
Hilly: What? Another puke?
Nancy: I just shit myself.
Hilly: Jesus, Pearl. That’s freakin’ gross. Text me with Luke’s number, OK?
Hilly: Pearl? Are you there?