Her, sharply with a British-Asian accent: Who is this?
Her: Let me speak to your mother.
Me: I can't do that.
Her: Why not?
Me: Maybe you can. Do you have a ouija board?
Her: Don't speak to me like that, young lady.
Me: Okay, okay, she's not really dead. But she's in Seattle.
Her: You put your mother on the phone right now!
Her: *covers the phone, incoherent mumbling*
Her: This is the wrong number?
Me: That depends on how you look at it.
* I absolutely hate it when people do this. You called me. You tell me who you are, you inconsiderate wretch.