True story, from about 30 years back:

The phone rings. For the 210th time that week, it's a photo studio offering me a deal on a photo of my nonexistent children. I'd fed up, and the conversation when this way:

Caller: Hi! I'm from the XYZ Studio and we have a special on children's portraits this....

Me: (Sounds of sobbing, heart-wrenching sobbing)

C: Sir, what's wrong?

Me: (sounding like I barely able to talk through my tears): My wife...and I...we'd love to have kids but...I...I was hit with a castrator mine in 'Nam...and...

C: Oh. Sir, I'm SO sorry. Please forgive me.

We weren't called again for six years.

Another time, when I had put on a SUIT to go to work, and the boss called and asked me to clean out the gutters because the custodian was ill, and I was running late anyway:

Caller: Sir, this is Jim-Bob's Aluminum Siding Company and...

Me: I think that anyone who sells siding over the phone freezes their turds with a stick in them so they can eat them later as turdcicles! (click of hangup)

Yes, I know that they're poor slobs doing a job. But now I'm on the do-not-call list and things are much more peaceful.