the silence is the best

A man called Peabody calls up a radio talk show and tells the host he lives in a 23-room mansion, has three Rolls Royce's, a '69 Corvette, and is one of the loneliest people in the world.

"Come on, Peabody," the host says. "You have no friends?"

"I have about two close friends."

"So, that's probably all you need. Why are you living alone in a 23-room mansion?"

"Because I want to," Peabody says, laughing.

"No wife? No girlfriend? I'm assuming you're not gay, which is a very dangerous assumption to make in this day and age."

"I'm not gay. I just don't like people."

"You're a misanthrope."

"Well," says Peabody, pausing. "I guess you could say that."

"You don't need people."

Another pause. "Not especially, no."

"So what's the problem? You shouldn't be lonely."

Peabody chuckles. "Shouldn't be. But I am."

"Peabody, I find it difficult to believe that you cannot make friends."

"Oh, I can make 'em. I just can't keep 'em."

"Why can't you keep them?"

"Because I don't always tell 'em what they wanna hear. If I don't like someone or somethin' about 'em, I tell 'em."

"Oh great," the host says. "You're one of these brutally honest guys - "

" - that's me - "

" - who goes around hurting everybody's feelings..."

"Well - the truth sometimes hurts, Jerry - doesn't it?"

"It does. But is telling the truth, at the expense of hurting another's feelings, worth the price of loneliness? My God, that was profound. Did you find that as profound as I did, Peabody?"

"I did."

"Hey, by the way. Why three Rolls Royce's? What is it about three Rolls Royce's?"

"I like 'em. I like to look at 'em."

"Why not a Pacer? Now there was a great car."

Peabody laughs.

"So, what do you do all day, Peabody, besides looking at your three Rolls Royce's?"

"I write, I draw, I paint. I talk to people on the phone."

"Don't get out much, do you?"

"Not anymore, Jerry, I err... have retreated into my little cocoon here."

"No special lady friend?"

Pause. "Not at present."

"Afraid of the gold digger aspect?"

"Hell, I couldn't care less about that. I've given plenty of money away to women."

"Is that right? Ever been married?"

"No, sir."

"Oh well, you're in the clear, then. No alimony, no giving up half of what you own. May I ask how old a man you are, Peabody?"

"I'm fifty-seven."

"Ever fathered any children?"

"Not to my knowledge or recollection."

"A simple yes or no will do, Peabody. What are you, a radio talk show host?"

Peabody laughs.

"Peabody, be honest. Have you ever worked a day in your life?"

"Well, my father was a billionaire..."

"A billionaire?"

"Yessir..."

"Okay, so let's recap for a moment. You had a billionaire father. You're fifty-seven years old, have never been married, have no children to your knowledge or recollection, you live alone in a 23-room mansion, you have three Rolls Royce's, a '69 Corvette, you sit home all day writing and drawing and painting and talking on the phone and you're one of the loneliest guys in the world."

"That about sums it up," Peabody says, chuckling.

"Well, hell, I'll buy that. What did your billionaire father do?"

"Can't say. I think people are already beginning to get an idea of who I am and I'd rather not divulge any of that at this juncture."

"Well, Peabody? Can I tell you something, my friend? You fascinate me. I don't believe a word you say, but you fascinate me on so many different levels."

"I'll send you pictures."

"And how will I know they're not pictures of somebody else's 23-room mansion, three Rolls Royce's, and '69 Corvette? How will I know this?"

"Jerry, I guarantee, even you probably know who I am."

"Are you the son of Bill Gates? Oh, wait a minute. Bill Gates is in his fifties, he couldn't possibly be your... Anyway, send me those pictures, Peabody, and stop being so lonely!"

"I'll try, Jerry."

"And go out and find yourself a nice girl, for cryin' out loud!"

"The operative word there is 'nice.'"

"There's no pleasing you, is there, Peabody?"

"It's very difficult."

"That's what I thought. Gotta go, my friend. Don't ever change."

"Love the show."

"I love it, as well... Off he goes... let's hear it for Peabody, the lonely son of a billionaire. You buyin' it? Naaah, didn't think so..." Bumper music drops in. "I still don't know what he's got against Pacers. Do you remember the Gremlin? How 'bout The Thing. Remember The Thing? That piece of crap Volkswagen put out for about a week and a half? Yeah, I had one. It was yellow. Is yellow not the most hideous color for a car? Felt like the biggest schmuck. Now here was a car; if you were a guy and had the misfortune of driving around in this tin box, no respect! Right? Am I right? People on mopeds looked down their noses at you. Not only that! You did not get laid while driving this car - for however long you owned it - I don't care how good looking you were, I don't care how much money you had - this car was truly repellent to women, and you got bupkes! I remained celibate for three and a half years while owning this car... No respect! If you ever... ever see me in a car like this again, shoot me... You have my permission to end my life...Here's another thing: if you ever see me out in public wearing a white sleeveless tee shirt tucked into a bathing suit, black socks, and sandals, shoot me... if you ever see me with a bad toupee, shoot me... if you ever see me with a comb-over, shoot me... if you ever see my wife and me wearing matching outfits, shoot me... if you ever see me dying my hair back to its original color when I'm eighty, shoot me... if you ever see me alone in a 23-room mansion with three Rolls Royce's and a '69 Corvette, shoot me... Peabody, buddy, just kiddin', my man! For God's sake, get a sense of humor... and a life... we'll be back... some people are so damn sensitive..."