Frank Sinatra's voice filled the room.
"Strangers in the night," He sang. "Exchanging glances, wondering in the night, what were the chances-"
Rima Inazays picked up the phone.
"We'd be sharing love, before the niiiiight was through," he crooned into the phone, dragging out the word through until he was out of breath.
"I'm going to ignore that," Jack said on the other end while Rima was gasping for air. "I called back because I forgot to tell you the joke."
"Well, it's okay, I'm not really a joke perso-"
"You'll love this one!" Jack interrupted. "Okay, it goes like this. A man is on his death bed, and-"
"A priest walks in! The man's condition becomes worse. He can't breathe, but using his hands he motions for a piece of paper and something to write-"
"With! So the priest gives him a notebook and a pen, and the dying man writes something down, and then he dies. So, the priest is touched by this incident, and decides to only read what the man wrote down at his memorial-"
"This isn't very-"
"Service! So, during the service, the priest says, 'He was a good man. Just before he died, he wrote something down for me to read,' so he opens the notebook, and it says,"
"Hey, you're standing on my oxygen tube!" He finished.
Rima said nothing.
"So, what do you think of it?" Jack asked eagerly.
"Well, it's not that good. Don't blame yourself, I'm just not a joke type of person."
"Not good?" Jack repeated, his voice rising. "NOT GOOD?! BLAAAAAAAAAARGGGGH!" he yelled, and Rima could hear him knocking things over on the other end.
"YOU SHALL DIE, RIMA. SUCH IS THE FATE OF ALL WHO DO NOT LAUGH AT MY JOKES!" Jack boomed, his voice suddenly several octaves deeper.