"Hello, is this Special Agent Seeley Booth? With the FBI?"
"Well, there’s only one Special Agent Seeley Booth and he is with the FBI, so yeah, that’d be me."
"I apologize, Agent Booth, it’s just that your wife was very adamant that you are in fact a special agent with the FBI and that I was supposed to refer to you as such. This is Sheriff Doug Cornwall with the Albermarle County Police?"
"Holy shit, what’s happened? Is she hurt? Look, I’m on my way right—"
"I wouldn’t hurry, Special Agent Seeley Booth, the arraignment isn’t scheduled until tomorrow morning. Your wife and her girlfriends should really take this time to think about all the damage they’ve down while they’re sitting in the cooler."
"WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? Has Bones shot someone again?"
"Wait a second, Special Agent Seeley Both—what? What’s that? Oh.—I apologize, Special Agent Seeley Booth, your wife was just informing me that you call her ‘Bones’ as a term of endearment and that I shouldn’t be confused. Apparently your screaming was loud enough to wake her from her liquor and violence-induced stupor. I have to say, that’s impressive."
"Look, can the ‘Special Agent Seeley Booth’ crap. Just—look, what happened exactly?"
"Well, Special Age—Agent Booth—what happened was that your wife and her rowdy friends somehow managed to completely destroy a honky-tonk off of Route 1, in my jurisdiction? Which is impressive, because we’ve been trying for years to shut that place down on account of all the biker gang violence and drug activity and whatnot. I gotta say, I’d give your wife and her girlfriends a medal if they hadn’t put thirty people in the hospital."
"Oh god. Holy fuck…"
"Now, don’t worry, Agent Booth, everyone’s having a good time sleeping it off here. Although we did have to put one Caroline Julian in solitary for the moment. I tell ya, I’ve had an easier time caging rabid raccoons than getting that lady in handcuffs."
"Are…are you kidding me? Carolina Julian is a United States Attorney!"
"…Well, that’s really impressive, Agent Booth, considering that she knocked out an entire row of teeth of a well-known meth dealer not thirty minutes ago."
"Oh god. Oh god. OH GOD."
"But like I said, Agent Booth—"
"No, listen, Sheriff Corn Pone, there’s gotta be a way we can straighten this out, right? I mean, these are incredibly important people who have very important jobs with the government and—listen, I bet you used to be a military man, right? You got an air of military…militariness…about you. Marines, Air Force, what have you. Well, from one military man to another—"
"I was never in the military, Agent Booth."
"But my brother was a Ranger."
"Oh! I was a Ranger! What’s his name?"
"Rick Corn Pone."
"Rick! Old Rick! I know him! We served together in some really nasty situations! Somalia! Afghanistan! Places I can’t even mention! Rick! Rick, Rick, Rick. He was a hell of a guy, Sheriff! We used to call him…Old…Rick…from Albermarle."
"I don’t have a brother, Agent Booth."
"And my name is Cornwall, not Corn Pone."
"Your wife told me you were a Ranger. I tell ya, that lady’ll give you her whole life story when she’s tipsy. Did it really take you seven years to have sex?"
"Oh, for fuck’s sake…"
"And you really shouldn’t drink beer in the bathtub, Agent Booth. It’s pretty dangerous. I’d say we get about three calls a year on account of people drowning from passing out in drunken stupors in their tubs. Those beer helmets should be outlawed. Worse than firearms, if you ask me."
"Sheriff Cornwall. Listen. I—do you have a wife?"
"I have a husband, Agent Booth, and he doesn’t destroy entire bars in one night."
"Okay, your husband though—you’re a married man. And you know that being married is…can be tough. Sometimes you have to do things for the ones you love, but you do them…because you love them…right?"
"Your reasoning seems air-tight, Agent Booth."
"Well, I’m asking you. Please. Let my wife and her friends go and you will find that you have a hell of a lot of friends here at the FBI. How does that sound, Sheriff? Next time you get a case you can’t solve, any time you need some extra back-up, any time you need something covered up—"
"That seems slightly unethical, Agent Booth—"
"—Any time you…want someone to pick up a burger from Ben’s Chili Bowl! And deliver it to your house personally! The FBI can make that happen!"
"Hmmm…I do like Ben’s Chili Bowl…"
"Who doesn’t?! Shakes, burgers, fries! Slice of Americana right there!"
"…Whenever I want? Ben’s Chili Bowl whenever I want?"
"Yes, Sheriff, we have people who can do that for you. Whatever you want, any time you want."
"That sounds reasonable."
"Very reasonable! I’ll give you the number of a guy who’s sole job at the Hoover is to deliver Ben’s Chili Bowl to anywhere in the country! His name is Dr. Lance Sweets, and his number is—"
"Oh, we can flesh out the details when you get here, Agent Booth. To tell you the truth, this is the most fun I’ve had in quite a while, with your girls here in the hoosegow! I’ve already learned 93 of the 206 bones in the human body! Ilium, maxillae, trapezoid, proximal phalanges, distal phalanges—"
"Yeah, that’s great, you can recite them when I get there. But, you know, thank you, Sheriff Cornwall."
"You’re welcome, Agent Booth."
"And just so you know, I’m really happy that gay people can get married now."
"I am too, Agent Booth."