I Love My Cell Phone
Without It, I would be a lonely shell of a manMy leash, my love. Warm, cozied up to my hip like a sleepy friend, my cell phone defines me. It is an extension of myself. Those who know my cell phone know me, for I have mastered the art of self-expressionist telecommunications.
My custom faceplates reflect my mood. Sometimes, my faceplate is clear, unassuming. I want people to know the real me, for I wear no mask, no costume. I have nothing to hide. Those who see my cell phone can peer into its deepest inner workings. Such am I.
I have many faces; thus, I have many faceplates. When things are hectic and I’m feeling a little rushed, my cell phone wears a NASCAR faceplate. This way, people will know that today, I’m a racecar. When I’m feeling especially quirky—maybe even a little crazy!—I put on my cow print faceplate just to let people know that I have a sense of humor about myself. Taking oneself seriously is silly, and so are cows! Sometimes my faceplate is a leopard print because I’m feeling like a wild animal ready to POUNCE!
I am a dynamic person, and the world must know this through my cell phone.
My custom ringtones—I have 17—comprise a carefully screened selection of my favorite melodies, painstakingly rewritten as a single-instrument MIDI. Melodious phrases from immortal pieces such as “Clare de Lune,” “Holla Holla,” and “Theme from ‘Airwolf’” erupt from my phone during class, at the movies, and at restaurants. I always allow a measure or two to pass before responding. All eyes are upon me, for they are jealous of my cell phone. Their contemptuous glares don’t bother me, for I know that great people are always scorned by those around them.
When my phone rings, a crudely-rendered, looped animation of jiggling breasts appears on the digital readout, amusing all who see it. Namely, me.
My cell phone rings at the highest possible volume. Vibrate is also activated, and the phone is always placed on the table, resulting in a charming, buzzing cacophony that gives everyone in my vicinity a clear signal: “I am important enough to receive phone calls.” If I am especially lucky, my vibrating phone will dance across the table’s surface, further alerting others to my status of a call-receiving person.
If your cell phone is infrared-enabled—and mine, of course, is—would you like me to beam you my address book? I have 78 people in my phone, which places a quantifiable value on my personal self-worth. Compared to other people I know, I’m just about the most popular person around. Please accept this gift as a token of our budding relationship: my digital business card. Let me beam it to you.
When not in use, my cell phone displays the phrase “Big Baller,” reminding me and anyone who comes near that I am indeed a player who treats women right.
I have the highest scores in both Snake and Space Impact. If you doubt me, I will challenge you to a Snake-Off. Prepare to get Snaked.
I like sending text messages. I’m a busy guy, and I have to get information to people at lightning speed. When I can’t afford to let verbal communication slow me down, I simply type messages to people at a blazing 20 characters a minute.
Check your inbox. I have sent you a text message from my phone. What I had to say was so important that it couldn’t wait for a phone call. The text message says that we should hang out sometime. I guess you can delete it now, because I just told you.
Let’s go out to eat, and I can play all of my ringtones for you while we dine. I will play melodies at random, and you can try to guess what song it is. You will be amazed how little you really know “Blitzkrieg Bop” and “ABC” by the Jackson Five. Don’t pay attention to the other patrons; they just can’t appropriately express their envy.
Wait—do you see that guy over there by the kitchen? Do you see his cell phone? It’s flashing a glorious rainbow of colors! Can I make my phone do that? Why not? Where did he get his phone? Why don’t I have one that flashes? Look, the antenna—it flashes green and orange! The keypad is lit in blue and purple! It’s like a glorious rave trapped inside a polyurethane shell of transistors and diodes. No, it can’t be! A phone superior to mine!
We have to leave now. Pay the bill. I can’t be seen a moment longer in his presence. I’ve been one-upped. I must have his phone.
You have the upper hand this time, good sir. Next time, don’t expect me to be so forgiving. You’ll rue the day you dared top my cell phone.