Oh, Mr 9 11.

Oh, good.

It's you again.

There is a naked fat man using the telephone in my bathroom, staring right at me.

Can you describe the man?

Oh, I can describe him.

All right.

In the word Ugliest Hill, he's the ugly sumbitch.

He looks like a hungry blob fish.

He got chocolate smeared all over his lips and red eyes red like the devil fucking slob.

Who he looks crazy that I just shook my fist at him.

He's shaking his bright back at me.

Hold on, I'm gonna head.

But you, you son of a bitch!

You don't want to do that, sir.

Oh, that twat sucker head butted me back.

Oh, I'm bleeding, but I fuck Give up.

His goddamn face is shattered, sir.

Calm down and listen to me.

There's a clear explanation here.

You are standing in front of a copycat killer.

I've handled thousands of calls like this before.

And there's only one solution.

Are you in a tall building?

Yes, I'm on the guards floor.

Perfect.

He does everything you do.

All you have to do is jump out the window.

Oh, my goodness.

it's working.

I opened up my window and he opened.

He put my foot out and that stupid motherfucker put his foot out.

And here we go.

Thanks for calling 911 and we're even.