The bad idea

Yesterday, a friend of mine called me. It was a John, an old buddy from high school. I hadn't spoken with him for years, and we started to reminisce about all the crap we pulled in high school. A few days later I decided to call him back, and see if we could get together, maybe go fishing or something. We talked on the phone for a while, and I said to him 'Hey, maybe we should get together sometime.' He first said that that was a bad idea, but then he agreed. I asked him for address, copied it down, and told him I'd see him in the morning. The next morning I arrived at the place he said he lived at. There was nothing but rubble there. It looked like there had been a fire there years ago, but nothing got cleaned up, and the plants never regrew. In the middle of the rubble, I found a old rotary style telephone on the floor, not connected to anything. Hurriedly, I pulled out my cellphone and called his number. The telephone on the floor rang. Once. Twice. A third time. I dropped my cellphone in shock, and knelt to grab the rotary telephone. A voice, drenched in distortion and hiss, said: 'I told you this was a bad idea.'