Reading the Phone Book

Sometimes, when I need to grab a quick book for the bathroom, I just pick up the phone book. It's fascinating reading. For example, did you know that in the Indianapolis white pages there are more than 50 prophets listed, including a Monty & Betty Proffit--who obviously don't know how to spell, a Carol Satre (she must have little tiny wings) and at least twenty Angels? There's also a Messiah listed (but he can't spell correctly either "Messiha"?), but no Devils.

My mind races with the possiblities. I mean, if I had a last name like one of these, instead of some innocuous name like "Outcalt", I could be using some good pick up lines with my wife like:

"Hi, baby . . . I'm a prophet. Want me to tell your future tonight?"
"Want to go to heaven, sweetheart? I'm an angel you know."

But what have I got? Nothing. About all I can manage are lines like:

"I've been reading the phone book and wondered if you were tired tonight?"
"After I get through reading the "L" section, perhaps we could discuss some romantic options."
"Have you seen the yellow pages?"

By the way, my family doesn't touch the phone books anymore.