Voicemail (Skit)

[*Voicemail*]
Please enter your passcode then press pound. Four new messages, one saved message. First new message--

[*Billy on Phone*]
"Hey Mark, umm, it's Billy. I don't know if you remember me from high school but uhh, I'm just calling to let you know your music fucking sucks. Umm really dude I remember you from high school really dude you are not a rapper. Stop. Stop trying to rap. I mean, I noticed that I could let you know he's my boy. Uhm, he has a couple of mixtapes out and you might be able to get a couple of pointers from him. But dude you fucking suck. Own it, stop doing what you're doing. Have a nice day, fuck you."

[*Voicemail*]
Next message--

[*Woman on Phone*]
Umm, hey Mark, it's been a whole week now since you called me and when I call you, you never seem to pick up. I know you think you're some kind of sick rapper now but really, you can't find time for a phone call? Well, you've lost your chance with me now and just so you know I'm on my way out to a party with a bunch of dudes I met the other night and there's a good chance that I'm gonna fuck one of them, or all of them. Whatever. So I guess that's it. No big deal though you probably have a small penis anyways. Good luck with all the shit you're doing. See you around... or not

[*Voicemail*]
Next message--

[*Guy on Phone*]
Ohhh, hey Mark. I heard you're doing that rap shit now, huh? What's your rapper name, Witty? *chuckles* More like fucking shitty. If you're so fucking witty why aren't you a millionaire, or a fucking corporate CO job right now. Get a real fucking job. Instead of this bullshit rap game these days where these white ass boys, they make it sound like Pac and Wayne on the mic. You sound like a motherfucking angry member of the New Kids on the Block. Your flow is as good as something that comes out of your grandmother's vagina. And no, that is not a good thing cause I know how you fucking pussy motherfuckers, twiddle each others balls to double entendres sound fucking cool in your songs. What are you gonna do when another sick performance at premiere at one of the small ass clubs like, 'The Salty Dog.' Rap sucks. You suck. Blank, period, end

[*Voicemail*]
Next message--

[*Witt Lowry's Mom on Phone*]
Hey Mark it's mom. I just wanted to make sure you're okay, wanted to know if you are coming home for dinner. Make sure you drive careful. Love you. See you soon, buh-bye