Please, don't call me Ernie...
Back when I was an aspiring young sales rep, a time when dinosaurs roamed the Earth and mobile phones were big blocky motherfuckers you could club a baby seal to death with, I used to do door-to-door work for an insurance brokers. This one time I was visiting an elderly lady in Binley Woods, Coventry. She invited me in, it was a prearranged appointment, so she had a lovely spread of sandwiches and a pot of tea laid out on a brass tray on the coffee table in her living room.

I put my briefcase on the floor, got my phone out and placed it on her mantlepeice (it was too bulky to keep in my jacket pocket), and the old bird fussed with my suit jacket. I remembered something my manager told me – a bit of advice I’ve taken with me to this day that’s helped me no end in my sales career – don’t, whatever you do, kill the old people. Sound advice, this is. While the lovely old lady was fetching in some battenburg, I went over and switched my phone to silent – it was a fucking expensive phone for the time, had one of those new-fangled vibrate functions. I reasoned that if the ringtone went off it might, just might, cause my customer to have a heart attack and die. That would be terrible. Bloody awful. I mean, this was a surefire commission I was on here.

I settled down on the sofa, ate a bit of cake, drank a bit of tea, and went through a load of forms with the old dear. Life insurance stuff. Bloody good policy too; it was a pretty decent, respectable company I worked for at the time. Just as I was winding things up I heard an almighty hammering, as if an army of termites were doing a bit of impromptu riverdancing over the otherside of the living room. It was my mobile, set to vibrate, I had a call coming in. I excused myself, set down the delicate little china tea cup and went to stand, and as I looked back up at my phone I realised – to my absolute fucking horror – that it was trundling at high speed, moving like a spasticated R2 unit with parkinsons disease at a rave, towards a pricey looking vase set pride of place square in the centre of the mantlepeice. I made a dash, but too late, the phone beat me to it. The vase fell, hit the ceramic fireplace, and smashed. Made a fucking mess, clouds of soot or, well actually...

...ash...

I swallowed hard.

It wasn’t a vase. It was an urn. The old lady liked to keep her poor deceased husband near her where he could keep an eye on her while she watched Coronation Street...

... I didn’t get the sale. But I did pick up a new nickname that remained with me during the next few years I worked for this firm. Everyone, from the MD right down to the spotty little shit who opened the post called me Ernie, or should that be Urnie???

Last one from me this week, and unfortunately this is 100% bonafide true...
( SpankyHanky, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 17:21, 5 replies)

Titch and his bloody Van
After signing up for an inauspiciously long contract with an incompetent, overpriced, useless company that ryhmes with loadabone, I started getting calls from people asking for someone called 'Titch'.

Weeks of politely informing them that Titch was no longer at this number and never had been, I started to get a little concerned that something dodgy was happening.

A couple of similar wrong numbers later, I started to enquire to these strange and almost always thick accented yorkshiremen as to the nature of these calls and who 'Titch' was.

I found out that 'Titch' was a slightly special, height challenged mechanic who specialised in van repairs based in Hull who had put MY phone number (one digit difference from his) on his invoices.

I always imagined him to be like a motor savvy quasimodo or Igor who sleeps in an old battery hen hut on a farm, lusts after the milk maid and started his own business so he could buy her wonderful and shiny things...

Not one to pass up an opportunity and with previous experience of prank phonecalls on my childish resume, I decided to start fucking with Titch's business.

I told some of his clients to drop the money round to...29 King street... Ive never been to Hull so dont know if this road even exists. I arranged to have a look at people's Vans and told them to "come round to my house at 8.30 tonight" and even told one guy not to worry about paying cos "this one's on the house".

I was rumbled a couple of times but it's amazing how much people will believe you if you sound confident enough and obviously can carry off a dumb yorkshire accent! This continued for about 6 Months. I think he's changed his invoices now!

Poor Titch, He should take more care when writing his contact details down. Oh well... it was good for a laugh.
(Eggstrovert isnt patronising you...honest..., Thu 30 Jul 2009, 17:08, Reply)

"This sucks the sweat from my balls"....
That isn't a statement about this QOTW but an actual text message sent to me by one of my work colleagues. It was his critique of a family friendly, friday night, outdoor theatre production of the Wizard of Oz. That he was being forced to attend with his family by his wife.

Unfortunately, before he managed to send it to me, he'd managed to send it to a similary named telephone engineer who works for a company that supports our in house phone system. He, not surprisingly, no longer comes to our company to provide phone system support anymore. And the guy that now does eyes my colleague very suspiciously.
( Evil Bastardo, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 17:04, Reply)

We know people we dislike & some that we detest
A simple trick to annoy the hell out of them is to call them several times a day, for several days, using various regional accents (and using a withheld number) asking if they can speak to [insert random name here]. After a week to 10 days of this call one last time & simply say "hello this is [random name] have you got any messages for me?"

Not that I would *ever* advocate this. Oh no.
(lkjshaglkasjdhglkhjz lkcvl; g;aodh;owih, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:56, Reply)

Hunted down for a crime I didn't commit...
MONDAY

Voicemail: 'Hello, this is Jane at ___________ Magistrates Court. Just calling because you missed your Court Date today. Please respond on ______________.'

...so I phoned back

Me: 'Hi Jane, I think you have a wrong number, I got a message from you about a Court Date'
Jane: 'OK, and what is the number?'
Me: 'It's 07___ ___ ___'
Jane: ' Yes, that is definitely the number I've got on file'
Me: 'OK, well it must be wrong, because I don't even live in the town of _______, and I'm not called _________, and I'm not due in Court.'
Jane: 'Hmmph! OK. Strange...'

TUESDAY

Voicemail: 'Hello, this is Jane at ___________ Magistrates Court. Just calling because you missed your Court Date yesterday. Please respond on ______________.'

...so I phoned back

Me: 'Hi Jane, it's Snowy, I spoke to you yesterday about having the wrong number for Mr. Criminal (not actual name) You've left me a voicemail again...'
Jane: 'Oh, I am sorry'

WEDNESDAY

Voicemail: 'Hello, this is Jane at ___________ Magistrates Court. Just calling because you missed your Court Date on Monday. Please respond on ______________.'

...so I phoned back

Me: 'Hi Jane, Snowy again, you keep phoning me about this Court appearance and I've explained you've got the wrong person. Can you stop calling please?'
Jane: 'Well, as I said before... it's the only number we've got, you see?'
[PAUSE]
Me: 'But it's... the wrong number'
Jane: 'You don't happen to have another number for Mr Criminal do you?'
Me: 'Errmmm. No! I've never even heard of this person. I have no idea why they've given my number - there's probably a digit wrong or something.'
Jane: 'Yeah, probably, sorry about that.'

THURSDAY

Voicemail: 'Hello, this is Steve at ___________ Magistrates Court.I believe Jane's been trying to contact you about missing your Court Date on Monday. She's on holiday now, could you please contact me instead on ______________.'

Me: ARRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!

(No apologies for length or excessive linebreaks)
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:48, 3 replies)

Ooooh, the memories.
Again, be careful of the ringtone you choose. Myself and an ex had found ourselves alone in her house after a weekend of sexual tension and not being able to act upon it. I'n not normally a fan of sexy dialogue but it just seemed to work that day. I can't remember the exact wording of it, but it ended up with her sitting on the kitchen top, putting her arms around my neck and her legs around my middle, and I am presented with a mental menu of all the things I would like for us to do. My phone then rang, adding another option to this menu which totally killed the mood.

*Do the Bartman!*

Sex became known as doing the Bartman after that.
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:47, 1 reply)

Crazy Ex
One day I left my phone at home by mistake and went to uni.

Text 1 - Hey Phil how are you blah blah blah
Text 2 - Are you OK?
Text 3 - Phil have I done something to upset you
Text 4 - Why are you ignoring me
Text 5 - At least tell me what i've done.
Text 6 - WELL FUCK YOU THEN, IF YOU CAN'T EVEN BE BOTHERED TO REPLY TO ME I GUESS OUR RELATIONSHIP IS OVER YOU FUCKING PRICK!

I get home and reply "Sorry forgot my phone today"

Text 7 - Oh Ok, How are you blah blah blah
( Peej, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:42, 17 replies)

Don't leave your phone on the table when you go for a slash in the pub,
they're called mobiles for a reason you know.

Anyhoo I once put my number into a mates phone under the name 'Big Gay Anal' or somesuch, and then when he got back and settled in sent a text that said something along the lines of: 'Your subscription is due to be updated, as such we will be deducting £49.99 from your phone's account, ring this number for full details or how to stop'

He read the text, said 'What the fuck!?' and when everyone asked why wouldn't say, scrolled down, broke into a sweat, and left, where upon my phone started ringing.

I could probably have continued the joke but I'm not very good at keeping a straight face with such malarkies, so instead we all jeered down the phone and fessed up so he could rejoin us and stop panicking.

Much hilarity had by all, it cured his phone flashing tendencies, and he always knew when I was calling!
( ..wil, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:38, Reply)

Literally just finished this call...
Me: Hello

Him: Hi there, can I speak to the person who deals with your risk assesment and health and safety protocol please?

Me: This is a private personal number

Him: So you dont have a Health and Safety Department?

Me: No, this is a private personal number!

Him: Can I take a name of the person who deals with such matters so I can ring back and speak to them at a later date?

*click*
(Psymon_Spark Jesus Saves! The rest of you take 4d6 damage, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:35, Reply)

I'm honestly not proud of myself for this
And I am fully aware I may get a verbal shanking from many a b3tan but what the hell, it makes for a mildly amusing story.

Many a moon ago I was dating a girl who had something of a bad reputation. She had breasts akin to two bald prison inmates hiding in a silk hole, and living in a small village in Lincolnshire she was "known" by almost every bloke in the village.

I was sure that with my Southern charm and panache for old school romance, I could coax her from the dark, broken streets of slutsville and whisk her away on my noble steed to the village of monogaminghamshire, situated in the county of Lotsofsex. Ignoring the fact that her natural resting position was missionary, she was charming and clever and for a time, she had me believing that I'd romantically beaten her into submission and she was ready to settle down.

Well, until one morning when I awoke to a drunken text from her where she'd confessed to sleeping with an entire 5 piece local goth band the night before.

And her ex right after she saw me off the last time I was there.

And again before I'd got up there.

And with another band who played a few weeks before, though they were just a 4 piece.

I do have a habit of nuking my bridges and decided that if she wanted to be a slag, I would help her career. Of course, during our relationship she'd sent me the odd rude photo of herself, and so with the help of a friend, managed to get her photo up on a few websites with her mobile phone number across the bottom. As a coup de gras, I printed one of the pages and posted it to her, and on the back simply wrote " :-) ".

I accidentally caught her online checking an old msn account about 2 years later. She still wishes me dead to this day, I think.
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:33, 3 replies)

KeyRing TM
I think we've been spoilt by technology. 'Can you just ring my phone, mate?' Seven words that have probably saved us all stress and expense beyond measure.

One day I lost my keys. 'Don't worry, mate, I'll just ring them from my house phone!'

Oh. Dear. Me. When my mates stopped taking the piss, I then came up with an invention: the KeyRing (Patent Pending).

Simply a key ring with a GSM SIM card and reciever. Dial the pre-saved number and your keys, wherever they are, bleep like fuck.

A bit like those ones that knobs had in the late 1990s that squealed like R2-D2 being buggered with a taser when you clapped or whistled.

Only good.

Anyone fancy one?
(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:29, 20 replies)

Txt Spk
There are no words for how much I hate this.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:24, 8 replies)

*Riiing*
Me: Hello?

Person: Hey, I was just calling to check - is your phone working?

Me:...is it working?

Person: Yes.

Me:...well...what am I talking to you on?

Person: Your phone.

Me: Mmhmm.

Person: So...is it working?

*Click*
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:13, 2 replies)

Sex pests.
I had a chap from a call centre call me up, over a two month period, and repeatedly ask me if I had a sunny erection. You'd think that part of their basic training would be being taught how to pronounce the names of the phones properly, wouldn't you?

For the hard of thinking, I had a Sony Ericsson...
(Paolo Nutini's Bikini Better than Frederick Fleet's optometrist, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:12, 1 reply)

I found a phone
outside my office, on the floor on a busy city street. I thought it would be nice of me to pick it up whilst i was on my phone to see if someone ran about looking for it. No-one.

After about 10 mins, i finished up and headed in to speak to our receptionist - a lovely lady in her 50's. I explained and went back to my office.

About 10 minutes later i had her supervisor on the phone asking "did i think it was funny" "why would i do something like this to her?" "Could i come back down immediately"

Fine, headed down and was again harassed. "LOOK at what you gave me". I opened the flip phone and looked. "KEEP LOOKING" and looked, then it dawned on me. The wallpaper was of an up close pussy shot of a well kempt, but not shaven, haven. I reckon on about 22-25 years old by counting the rings.

They did see the funny side and my genuine mistake, and we hung on to the phone to see if they dropped back in. The phone rang the next day, and the owner asked where the phone was. Unbeleivably he then had a right go at our receptionist "for looking through his intimate photo's" - she went ape "IT WAS ON YOUR WALLPAPER YOU PERVERT - GET HERE AND COLLECT IT BEFORE I SEND IT TO THE POLICE".

Next day, a sheepish man comes in to collect. It wasn't his - his mate was way too scared to show his face, and had taken a right beating from his mrs for losing her close ups.
( bazza van der trance , ooh baby baby, baby baby. Get up on this., Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:12, 1 reply)

What Big Grant said
It's not big, it's not clever, it's a straight up scally move.
(itsOnlyGoingToGetHairier, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:09, 1 reply)

Having worked in a library
Quite often we'd get kids do the whole Trigger Happy TV thing of screaming "HELLO!" into their phones. I find repeating pranks pulled on TV to be about as funny as ear cancer.

It always got bad in the summer, to the point you knew where it was coming and you'd assume a start position to chase the little turd rapers out of the building. One kid was particularly persistent, and doubly as obnoxious when we threw him out.

One day he was sat at a computer next to an exceptionally large Dutch backpacker. Sure enough, there was the ringtone, the hello, and the jump-and-sprint. However, like a Brown Bear swiping at a salmon in an Alaskan stream, this backpacker plucked the little foreskin out of mid air and slammed him on my desk by his forehead. In a voice much, much louder than this child, he bellowed "MY FRIEND! I WILL ASS FUCK YOU!". I'm pretty sure the kid managed to poo his own heart out.

If I were a professional, I probably should have called the police or asked the large man to leave, but I was so busy laughing I'd snorted a giant bogey into my moustache, which made looking and sounding authoritative completely impossible. Oh well.
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:09, 8 replies)

Sorry to have to say this...
but if you piss about with a mate or a strangers mobile to send/receive dodgy texts that can cunt up their lives, split up relationships, cause rows with their partners.

If you do this, you're a monumental cunt. It's not fucking funny. I'd recommend a stint playing with the traffic blindfolded instead to amuse your moronic mates.
(Big Grant, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:05, 9 replies)

This may have happened
or I read it here on b3ta. In my head, its twisted into something that I cant quite remember now. Lets just go with it actually happening.

My married friend Andy left his phone out whilst he went for a slash. We found the "send text to group" option, selected the entire address book and sent the message "I'm near your place, fancy a shag? cant stop thinking about you since last time".

It went to a lot of girls. And his wife. And his mum, grandma, 12 year old sister, everyone, about 400 of them.

Within 30 seconds the fucker had two positive replies from a couple of nice ladies. Good looking bastard.

His wife left him the week after so it wasnt all good.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 16:00, 3 replies)

Stalker
PeaRoast and depressing but hey ho, it was all mainly based around my mobile...
( SauronWibble I'll hold it, you lick it..., Thu 30 Jul 2009, 15:56, Reply)

Oh, my God – I’m going to die...
Is a thought that often goes through your head when you’re walking alone, pissed, through Camden Town late at night. One time I spied a group of teenage hoodie wannabe gangsta’s, probably tooled-up with more pointy sharpy stabby things than your average hoard of marauding Vikings with a weird knife fetish pillaging a cutlery factory, when I automatically went into my tried and tested – please dont mug / stab / anally-rape me self defence routine. No, I didn’t get medieval on their asses. Instead, I reflexively pulled out my mobile and pretended to be deep in conversation as I ambled drunkenly past.

The hoodies stopped their conversation and stared. Shit... Yep, this is it... I am actually going to die. I’m going to be on the news tomorrow, I do hope they choose a nice photo of me as they cut between this and the street where they find my bloody body, cordened off with police tape. And I hope there’s flowers, lots and lots of nice flowers... Maybe a teddybear or two... In an attempt to stave off certain, grusome death I started speaking louder into my phone, I was having a particularly heated pretend conversation.

Then something fucking horrible happened. As I walked past and thought I’d cleared the gang of hoodies, one of them called after me. “Oi, maaiite!” I ignored the fucker, continued my inane rambling conversation. “OI, MAAAIIITTTE!!! I’M TALKIN' TO YOUZE!!!” Then I felt a firm hand on my shoulder, I had to fight really hard not to piss and shit myself on the spot. The little fella – probably only about sixteen or so – jogged up next to me and asked: “Why you speakin into a packet of ten Marlborough lights, innit?”

Ohhh, the shame...
( SpankyHanky, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 15:43, 5 replies)

on the subject of mobile phones
put your hand up if you've ever realised you can't find your phone, and began frantically searching all of your pockets... before realising you're currently talking to somebody on the bloody thing.

_{puts hand up}
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 15:39, 6 replies)

My wife's mobile mis-hap
I was heading up the stairs to bed one night. My wife had gone perhaps an hour earlier. I came into the bedroom to find a peculiar sight. My wife's bedside light was still on, and she was lying with her mobile phone in her hand. However, she was fast asleep.

Trying not to wake her, I took the phone from her hand. It was a flip-style phone and as I was about to close it when I noticed that she had been in the middle of reading a text - from my mate - which explained in graphic detail what he'd like to do to her. I checked her outbox and found a similar array of texts from her to him.

She woke up at this point and there followed a 'discussion' between us. She was very apologetic - almost hysterical in fact - and assured me that nothing had happened physically between them. We tried to patch things up, but here we are a year later in the middle of separating.

Sorry, this story sounded a bit better in my head. First time I've told this to anyone though, so it's been quite cathartic.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Thu 30 Jul 2009, 15:38, 12 replies)

Dunno if this has bidun....
When in the pub/out/etc with your mates, wait for one to leave his phone and do a send all text (to everyone in his phone book) simply saying "I know your secret" sit back and enjoy the ride......

Before someone replies "Jimmy Carr Joke" i do know, but it doesnt stop me doing it....
(MudButton does not mean to offend but......, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 15:34, 5 replies)

Ex-wives! Deceit! Funerals! Darts!
Recently I left my phone connected to my ex-wife after finishing a call and telling her I was having a quiet evening. During the next 45 minutes she heard me drunkenly chatting up a couple of girls, singing, having a bit of a row with someone and discussing the theory of sales very loudly.

She was less than happy, and I was in the doghouse for some time.

Also, the Bullseye theme tune is not an appropriate ringtone at your grandmother's funeral. Even less so if it rings only minutes after the coffin slides away and everyone is still sitting there, grief stricken. Even less so than that if you've spent half the bloody day reminding your father and brother to turn their bloody phones off.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 30 Jul 2009, 15:27, 6 replies)

A bloke once took a shine to my daughter
and they exchanged numbers. However, he turned out to be a bit of a clinger and would bombard her with calls and texts, which she didn't like.

One day, out of credit, she borrowed my phone for a clubbing trip. Next morning she came home absolutely livid.

For some reason, Blokey had texted my phone with a detailed account of what she'd been up to on t'internet, including her plans for the next couple of months. He'd tracked her down on a clubbing site and read her 'conversations' with her mates.

So, fellers, here's a tip - stalking a girl and grassing her up to her mum will NOT endear you to either of them!
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 15:22, Reply)

I once had a date with the dizziest girl in the world
When I arrived at her front door to pick her up for the evening, I noticed a set of keys in the lock, so I took them out and knocked. And waited. And waited. And knocked again. And waited. Eventually on the third attempt the door was opened by my flustered looking date. “You’d better come in, I cant find my mobile”. I stood in the hallway while she flung cushions off of chairs and emptied the contents of her handbag onto the floor. I noticed that she had a landline, “Why not give your mobile a ring?” I suggested. She furrowed her brow and said “But who’s going to answer it?” I laughed thinking that she had made a joke. She hadn’t. “We might hear the ringing,” I explained. Her face lit up with understanding as she thrust her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out a mobile phone and started punching in numbers. “Is that your work mobile?” I asked (already suspecting the answer). “No, I don’t have a work mob…” she trailed off, “You must think I’m an idiot?” she said looking embarrassed. “Not at all” I lied, “Shall we go? The table is booked for 8pm”. “Ok” she said, “I just need to find my keys”.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 15:14, 12 replies)

I got bum raped by a phone.
Not a long story really. It was an old phone with a solid, unretractable aerial. It fell out of my pocket and wedged, aerial up, between the cushions. It was a little, plastic, cancer causing suppository which played the Mexican hat dance.
(Tiny Blindfolded Horse Kitten sound car horns would end road rage, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 15:09, 4 replies)

Scarred
A few months back several mates and myself were at a student bar getting a few too many beers in, as students in student bars tend to do. We were sitting round a particularly large table chatting (I would love to say we were discussing the current state of the global economy or some sophisticated issue but it was probably about shagging, but I digress) and one particular chap, who we will name Dan for the purpose of the story, was texting on his mobile phone. He finishes the text, places his mobile on the table, and shuffles off to the gentleman’s room to take a leak.

Spying the phone left foolishly on the table, a second member of the group, my housemate Matt, grabbed it grinning like a Cheshire Cat, and after a brief twiddle with some of the buttons, replaced it back on the table with a smug look in his eye. Assuming he had found some gem of a text in the inbox, I settled back in my chair waiting for some sort of hilarious find to be revealed.

Dan returned several minutes later, looking somewhat lighter and relieved, picked up his phone, put it in his pocket, and the conversations continued (still talking about shagging no doubt). A few moments later, Dan fished his phone out of his pocket and began reading a text. Suddenly his face drained and he quickly shut his phone, looking decidedly nauseous.

“What’s wrong mate?” We ask, concerned for our friends wellbeing.
“Ummm…” Dan hesitated “Just got a text saying “looking forward to your big cock inside me again this weekend.” That’s all I read before I deleted it... It was from my Mum.”

Cue uproarious laughter, name calling, and all the usual mature reactions you can expect from such a revelation. Dan at this point was looking rather pale. The phone went off again. Picking it up and taking a deep breath, he looked at what it had to say.

“Sorry Dan wrong number! Please don’t tell Dad, will explain later. Love Mum.”

Suffice to say the rest of the night consisted of ripping into Dan and his mother, which everyone enjoyed immensely, except for Dan who was pretty pissed off at this stage and was looking like he would rather be in a Soviet Gulag than trapped in a bar with us lot.







As we were walking home I asked Matt what he had found on the phone that made him grin so much.
“Found?” Enquired Matt, “I didn’t find anything. I just put my number into his phonebook and stored it as his Mum’s. Then sent him a couple of cheeky texts…”
I wish I could have seen the next meeting of Dan and his Mum, Dan waiting for his Mum to drop the bombshell and his Mum not having a clue about the whole thing…

Length? Well apparently it was big enough for her...
(xerophytic has no idea, Thu 30 Jul 2009, 15:07, 6 replies)