A message from beyond the grave.

Its a monday morning and I am checking my messages. Soon after three stuttering mouth breathing jerkoff messages from some guy wanting to know what kind of guitar Lyndsay Buckingham played, I get this:

[Massive Static, sounds like it is coming out of the TV from the Craig T. Nelson classic, Poltergeist]
Sultry female voice: Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh...huuunnnnnnnhhhh sssssiiiiiiiiiign me. siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiign meeeeeeeeeee. sssssssssssign me to a lucrative record deal. I will be your sssssssssex slave for a year. Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh...mmmmmmm.
Didnt leave her number, if she did, I would have hit her up.