Cellphones, Borgs and
Heaven.
One of my
philosophies in life is, enjoy your addictions, just keep them to yourself. Unfortunately like cigarette smokers in the late
seventies and early eighties, you cellphone addicts do not know how to keep your bad habits, to yourselves. You find it necessary
to constantly annoy the hell out of people like me. So, if I may, on behalf of myself and others like me. Give you some pointers
on how not to annoy the hell out of—at least me.
First of all
I really don't care how hip and cool your new cellphone is. You people remind me of all the yuppies in the eighties, always
running around buying your little Members Only jackets and Izod shirts. All that fashion with a half life of about six months.
For the record I can wear my little circa 1985 non Members Only leather jacket—in public today—without ridicule.
You can't say the same about your little jacket can you? Nor will you be able to say it about your little, so last month,
cellphone. So the next time you get your new super duper gadgeted cellphone, keep it to yourself. Because the depth of my
concern could be measured in angstroms.
Not only am
I not interested in your cellphone. I am not interested in what you are talking about on your new hip and trendy cellphone.
So, why is it? When I am in Home Depot getting my plywood cut and you are on the other side of the store. That I can still
hear your loud cellphone talking ass! I would point out the fact that it is rude to carry on a one sided conversation
when others are present. But like the good inconsiderate addicts you are. You have already replaced one uncouth behavior with
a greater one.
You know the
one I am talking about. You walkie talkie loving freaks. And freaks you are. Not only do I have to listen to your half of
the conversation, but now I am subjected to the inaneness of your cohorts and those endless excessive beeps. “Beep....yadda
yadda.......beep.....yadda yadda.....beep.....”, to ad nauseam! What is it with you people? Do you have a longing
for the string and tin cans of your childhood or is it that you always wanted to be a truck driver circa 1978. Either way,
stay away from me, before I breaker breaker off that cellphone of yours—up some place where the sun don't shine.
While I am
talking about things I do not want to hear. Here is another one. Your stupid insipid ring tones. Do you think I care if Kayne
West is a broke motherfu**** or not. You people are worst than those idiots who ride around town blaring their car stereos
loud enough for the whole block to be repulsed by their taste in music.
At least I
can drive away from all that noise. But you cellphoner's are always going off at the most inopportune time. In the past year
I have been to four weddings and a funeral. No, I am not Hugh Grant, at least when I am not fantasizing about Elizabeth Hurley.
Anyway, during every event, someones cellphone went off. Or more accurately some strange sound started to emanate from some
strange place on their body. Do you know what I wish?
Places like
churches, funeral parlors and movie theaters would equip their ushers with Tasers. Yeah, you read it right. If you insist
on interrupting something that should not be interrupted. Then you should entertain the hell out of all of us. One good jolt
for being rude and inconsiderate. And if your cellphone has an especially annoying ring tone. We get to hear “Clear—one
more for the ringtone”. Speaking of shocking the hell out of people.
What is
it with all you Borg wannabes? You people know who you are. You carry around more communication equipment than was needed
to put a man on the moon. You walk around with your beepers, your cellphones equipped with bluetooth of course, your crack
berries and last but not least your Ipod with the ear piece cord dangling just so. Freak'in Borgs! Let me be
the first to tell you, the only people who would find you cool with all that communication gear, is the three nerds from Sixteen
Candles. That being the case if you are a guy give me a dollar and I will show you a pair of ladies panties. If you are a
woman let me borrow your cellphone camera and I will take a picture of something you can only wish for. Then again, if you
have Jeri Ryan type looks, you can be my Seven of Nine—anytime.
President
Bush was all worried about animal-human hybrids in his State of the Union address. When he should have been worried about
all these Freak'in Borgs walking around. I am sure you have a wife or girlfriend or maybe a guy friend in the non 'Brokeback
Mountain' sense. Who are always checking their cellphones for 'the bars'. Every place they go—always checking
for 'the bars'. 5 minutes without 'the bars' on their cellphone and they start to take on all the characteristics
of a heroine addict going through withdrawal. Freak'in Borgs I tell you.
Bush, it is
not the animal-human hybrids you have to worry about, it is all the Freak'in Borgs among us. Because, for some of these
people, it will not be long before. If I threaten to shove that cellphone up their ass. They would thank me, because the hard
dock for it, will be located there.
I know I am
about to speak blasphemy here. But it is okay to be alone with yourself and your own thoughts, every now and then.
I am not even a part of your cellphone clique, yet, I heard the collective moan. You know, Sartre, once envisioned a type
of hell. Where when you died you were forced to listen to others talk about you without filter. For most of you cellphone
addicts, I get the feeling that kind of hell would be the perfect little heaven.
All I am trying
to say people is, that when you call me, the first question you ask. Should not be, “Can you hear me?”.
The question should be, “Do you want to talk to me?” Because I am a pretty anti-social guy. Which means
the rerun of Gilligan's Island that I am watching for the 100th time. Is more interesting and stimulating than
anything you could possibly say. Unless you are about to confess some murderous activity. Because as you know, I am not above
throwing the switch. On your obnoxious cellphone using ass!
By B. Bell
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