"And speaking of that, there’s an odd sound coming from the utility pole outside. It screeches. It screeches like a raccoon who got his tail caught in a modem. It’s the damndest sound, and I’ve no idea what it is - the pole carries everything, so I can’t narrow it down. But sure enough the pole screams like the damned bouncing around in the Tabasco Sitz-Bath of Hell
and I don’t know what it means. I hate to call the phone company and tell them that their poles are talking to me. Jasper heard it too - his gigantic ears - the family DEW - unfurled and whirled around to fix the location, and then he just stared, unblinking, at the pole. Perhaps it’s all accumulated conversation. Perhaps it’s just misheard syllables, excess conjunctions, random words that didn’t get transmitted. They build up from time to time. You need to call the phono-rooter man; he’ll shimmy up and run a snake through the cable, suck all the words into a gigantic tank and dispose of them for you.
I guess they sell them to C-SPAN, and they get a nice recycling credit to boot."