Every Monday through Friday, at about noon, I turn on the phone and listen to my voicemail. Some of the messages are from good clients, but some of them--well, they're rather strange. Here are some of the recent oddities:

[PRESS 1 TO HEAR MESSAGES] Uh, hello, my name is Turk, and I'm interested in getting into some BDSM videos. I used to make kinky videos in the '80s and I was looking to get back into it. I'm a real submissive, no holds barred, and I really need the money, so call me back real quick, a'right? [END OF MESSAGE]

At least, I think he said "holds"… I have no idea why this guy thinks I'm casting for video work, and I'd hate to be the one who tells him that a submissive guy who was making fetish porn 20 years ago is probably not going to be pulling down the big bucks now. Especially when, to me, his draggy stoner voice brings up images of sunken, flabby buttocks and tufty chest hair. Turk will not be getting a call back.

[NEXT MESSAGE] This is Doctor James, and I am the doctor of love! Yeah! And I am calling you! So call me, baby. [END OF MESSAGE]

The way he talks, I'm surprised he doesn't call himself James Brown. But I'm not feeling sick, so I think we'll pass on Doctor James.

[NEXT MESSAGE] (whispering) Mistress. Mistress. Connect with me. Connect with me. Reach out to me. [END OF MESSAGE]

Jesus, this guy sounds like one of those chat-line commercials that run after 11:00 p.m. You know the ones, with the sexy girls--girls who would never, ever really call a chat line--pretending to talk on the phone? Too much late-night television for this guy.

[NEXT MESSAGE] Oh, Mistress, I wanna be your slave-slut, I want you to put an ice-cream cone up my ass! Please let me be your ice-cream slut! Call me… [END OF MESSAGE]

Well, he gets a prize for originality. An ice-cream cone up his ass? Huh. Would you put the pointy, cone end in first, or would you start with the cold, slippery end? A smooth flavor, or Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey? I wonder if he ever does Jell-O, or pudding, just to mix things up a little?

[NEXT MESSAGE] Uh, Mistress, my name's Dave, I e-mailed you about three months ago and asked you about your rates, and you e-mailed me back and told me. I, uh, just wanted to tell you that I've decided not to go through with a session with you. I mean, I think you're a real nice lady and real pretty and all, but I just don't think this is for me. So I just thought I'd let you know, so you weren't wondering or anything. [END OF MESSAGE]

I can't decide if this guy is incredibly arrogant to think that I was waiting by the phone for him, or if he's just taking gentlemanliness to an absurd extreme. I, of course, forgot all about that e-mail roughly 30 seconds after I sent it, given that I receive and answer dozens of such e-mails each week.

[NEXT MESSAGE] (yelling) Mistress Mah-teeese! Mistress Mah-teeeese! Owwwoooo! Owwwoooo! Awoof, awoof, awoof! Owwwoooo! [END OF MESSAGE]

This is the Howler. He's been calling at least once a week, late at night, for the last six weeks or so. Some of my friends suspect that he's a furry, and that these calls are in response to a column I wrote about furries a while back. However, we're not sure if he feels unhappy about it, or if he's just a lovelorn dog-boy trying to express his admiration. His barking doesn't sound unfriendly, but without knowing if he's wagging his tail or not, it's really hard to say.

[NEXT MESSAGE] Hello, Mistress? I was calling because I don't know if I've seen you or not. My name's Bob. Can you call me back and tell me if you know who I am? [END OF MESSAGE]

Bob, honey, I have bad news for you--I'm not sure if you know you who you are.