Recently, my friend Nick (pictured here) received a few flirtatious texts from a Louisiana number that were clearly not intended for him.  It was still going on when he, Carin, and I were at Green Mill this Tuesday night, so we decided that it was high time he replied.  Nick has detailed the entire sordid tale on his own blog, or you can read his account in full RIGHT HERE!

Nick says…

Hey babe

Heyy mehh foxyy ladyy

Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
Heyyy babee

Yes, I was a victim of sexy wrong-number texting.

Assuming the problem would resolve itself, I ignored them. I’ve fielded a few wrong-number calls on my phone since I moved to the MPLS, and I figured that this guy would realize his mistake when he sobered up on Tuesday.

I was wrong.

At 7:14 a.m. on Tuesday, I received yet another text from the same number:

Good luckk… This morning with ur dance practice

And again, during Six-Ring Circus rehearsal that night:

Heyy babee

Heyy mehh sexyy foxxyy ladiee

Heyy mehh sexyy foxxyy ladiee
Heyyyy

Annoyed, I showed the texts to my old improv coach, tech guru Chuck, after the show, complaining that I would have to block the number. He chided me, pointing out a potentially-missed opportunity to fuck with the life of a total stranger.

I met up with bupwethern and carinbrat at Green Mill, explained the situation, and unfolded our revenge plot. It started with a text from me:

Hey cutie I missed ya

When we didn’t get a response forty-five minutes later, I sent another message:

Y r u ignring me

Immediately:

What u mean dis is bailey rite

Oh, it was on.

U kno who it is dont fuk wit me… I m wet

Who

At this point, I handed the phone off to bupwethern, who took his time carefully crafting the appropriate response:

U been txting me. I thought youd wanna hear about my dance practice. Ill dace 4 U”;)

What ur name and i memt to send that 2 my gf my bad

Well, the jig was up. The honorable thing to do was confess:

You have been erroneously texting me for the past 48 hours. I do hope you resolve the matter with your “hot snatch.” Best of luck with the poontang, dear sir.
Best regards, Tyrone Bibbins, Esq.

I haven’t received a text from him since.

I had imagined a scenario, though, where I would read a story on nola.com about a young woman tragically murdered by her boyfriend, the circumstances stemming from a misunderstanding over text messages. And then, because there’s something wrong with me, I imagined this:

On the season premier of Law & Order: SVU, a brutal murder, ripped from the headlines!

“What kind of monster would do this, Elliott?”

“This was about text messages, Liv!”

“You don’t understand, detective! She told me she was wet!”

And you won’t believe where the investigation leads them!

Duhn duhn!