Ring ring!

Me: Hello?

Caller: Goddess? I greet thee. I am Pluto.

Such is the power of Disney branding that an image of an orange cartoon dog pops into my head before I think, no, he's referring to the Roman god of the underworld, not Mickey's pet. I get a lot of goddess-fetish guys. It's not a particular schwing of mine, but I have no objection to a little religious diversity as long as they fit into my basic game plan. The trouble is they often don't.

Me: Okay, Pluto, this is Mistress Matisse.

Caller: Aphrodite, Venus, Urvasi, Ishtar—all of these are your names.

Me: Well, that's nice, but how about you call me Matisse; it's less confusing.

Caller: I am called to worship at your shrine, Goddess. I must perform a yoni puja, and then you must perform the linga puja on me.

I've read just enough about sacred-sex traditions to know a yoni puja is a ceremony honoring my pussy. So, what, he wants to light some candles, chant, burn some incense in front of my sweet thang? That seems okay. I haven't heard the term linga puja before, but I can guess what it means. I don't know any chants about cocks, but I'm told that in men's tantric sex practices, breath control and not ejaculation are key. I can certainly handle that, so I make encouraging noises.

Caller: And then we join together in sacred union.

Me: Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, Pluto, no sacred union. You want to do some ceremonies about our bits, okay, maybe. But we will not be joining together.

Caller: But we must. Your power as a goddess on earth will atrophy unless you perform the sacred union. Together we unlock the golden gate to the sacred seventh chamber.

I hold the phone away from my head and look at it incredulously, because even after all my years in the business, sometimes people still say things to me that are so ridiculous it just stuns me. Golden gate? Sacred chamber? What the hell? I'm totally flashing on the scene from Ghostbusters when Rick Moranis and Sigourney Weaver are possessed by demons, get busy on a rooftop, and literally let all hell break loose. Where's Bill Murray when you need him?

That's the trouble with the goddess-worship callers. Too often they're either using it as a justification—Look, I'm not a pervert, I'm simply participating in a centuries-old tradition of goddess worship—or, like this caller, it's the advanced version of Inappropriate Yoga Guy, where they think they can worship their way into some nooky.

Me: No, Pluto, I'm not unlocking anything. I do not do full service; you'll have to call someone else for that.

Caller: But your power—you will lose your power if we do not open the golden gate.

Me: Pluto, do you know what I think is golden?

Caller: What, oh Goddess?

Me: Silence.

Click. I hang up. Ah, nirvana. recommended