Stallion into Depths of Telephone Receiver Perforations

I mean not the beginning, but seven years after the beginning– when Alex Jonz-Joned-Jones was seven years old and in the second grade– his big baritone bardic voice chipper into the “mike”.

“Mike” had always been a friend of Alex Jonz-Joned-Jones, due to the perforations of the receiver. Alex Jonz-Joned-Jones was the perceiver; “Mike” had, and was, the receiver.

Being fair to the bare baritone brazen Alex Jonz-Joned-Jones, he had, from the barest beginning, when naked he’d been slapped on heinie awake to the porcelain chamber of delivery, loved the scream erupting– from his lungs, in fact from his diaphram-pram, as if the very daisy diaphram he’d tripped over so lazily to be here, a cotton ball baby, the scream erupting from his lungs, of which the diaphram was integral.

In a word, Alex Jonz-Joned-Jones loved the voice. Not the scream so much, after all, as the voice. Alex Jonz-Joned-Jones became convinced the voice was supreme, over the scream.

Then Alex Jonz-Joned-Jones became fascinated by the telephone.

You could of done gone and called it the Jonz-Joned-Jones a’phone.

He liked talking into the telephone, and listening. But that wasn’t it. He liked using the telephone for mischief.

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