Enlightening Nonsense

Every time I see one of those douchebags typing into their Crackberry or their cell phone with a smile, I feel like shouting out, “It says WALK,” even though it doesn’t and they’ll be walking into oncoming traffic. This is the pathetic form of communication we’ve chosen to put forward as our highest expression of humanity and if the aliens come down from outer space and not Mexico, they’ll probably give us a well-deserved scolding, “After the UFO crash and alien recovery at Roswell in 1947 and all the alien technology we helped you acquire, THIS is what you’ve done with it?? I think we should destroy the planet.”

If it comes to that, I won’t make the Abraham argument to save Sodom and Gomorrah. I’ll say in my best James Bond imitation, “Roasted and not burned,” to which case the aliens will probably respond, “What the fuck does that mean?” in which case I’ll probably respond, “It may not be funny, per say, but I would think with heads as big as a Monsanto genetically modified watermelon on growth hormones that you two nimrods would at least be able to figure it out,” in which case they’d probably respond, “You are much smarter than us, human. We leave the planet in your hands to bring these morons up to speed,” in which case I’d probably respond, “No thanks, nothing here but a bunch of douchebags; you have my full support on destroying earth,” in which case they’d probably respond, “Okay. Roasted not burned,” in which case we’d all probably share a good laugh.

My phone service is on a pre-pay plan, meaning I pay a certain wad of dough each month so that they can give me the privilege of radiating my brain while I use it and sterilizing my nutsack when it resides in my pocket. The reason I chose this plan is because I prefer my information be kept private and don’t want it given to the telephone companies who all except Qwest sold out and helped the government violate the Constitution with their illegal wiretapping just because the government said, “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.”

I remember once my friends dared me to eat a whole roll of Ritz Crackers, which amounted to about twenty, that they found in Nussy’s cabinet that were at least a year past their prime and when we crushed one and threw it to the ants even they said, “We’d prefer to inhale Raid than eat that shit!” Finally the pot got up to about $70 and I ate them. Besides a violent case of diarrhea the next morning, it was the easiest $70 I’ve ever made, well, besides the time I saw Tom Cruise blow some guy and then he said, “Here’s $70 to keep your mouth shut about this.” For the record, my mouth is shut while I’m typing this now.

Because I don’t have a text plan, each text message costs me 20 cents—which means not only am I charged when I send one, but also when I receive one. 20 cents may sound like a penny on the ground, not even worth bending down for unless you’re a Jew, but the money can add up pretty quick. Here’s an example from my logs to illustrate this point:

“Hey Swami” (20 cents)

“Hey Roach” (40 cents)

“What you up to, X?” (60 cents)

“Proper grammar would be to write ‘What are you up to?” (80 cents)

“That’s what I meant” ($1)

“I’m up to my eyeballs in work, as you know I am always working because I’ve made earning money a top priority” ($1.20)

“Are you serious?” ($1.40)

“Of course not! I’m sitting around jerking-off to Family Guy” ($1.60)

“Are you serious?” ($1.80)

“Did you hit resend by mistake or was that a new thought?” ($2.00)

“A new thought.” ($2.20)

“No, I’m not serious. I mean I am watching Family Guy but I’m not jerking-off. But Lois is pretty hot for a cartoon character. Much hotter in my opinion than Wilma Flintstone and Betty Rubble—well maybe not ‘hotter’, per se, but you can tell that Lois is wild in the bedroom” ($2.60, as I went over 160 characters and so I am charged for two messages)

“Oh, LOL!” ($2.80)

“What does that mean?” ($3.00)

“You don’t know?” ($3.20)

“No, I do but I thought I’d waste another 40 cents just for fun” ($3.40)

“I’m not sure if you’re serious. Just in case, it means ‘Laughing Out Loud’” ($3.60)

“How delightfully cute” ($3.80)

“I knew you’d think that was cute!” ($4.00)

“I was being sarcastic. I think it is completely gay” ($4.20)

“Oh, I thought you were serious” ($4.40)

“Because you can’t read tone in a text message and I’m not complete fag enough to put a ‘winky’ semi-colon/closed-paragraph sign” ($4.60)

“Well just wanted to say hi” ($4.80)

“Uh, you said that with your first text” ($5.00)

“I know” ($5.20)

“Okay, so I’ll see you sometime.” ($5.40)

“Definitely! I love you, Swami” ($5.60)

[At this point I was so distraught about the drainage of money these texts were costing me that I paused to think whether I had to write those three words back or whether she'd just know]

“Swami, did you hear me?” ($5.80)

["Jesus fuckin’ Christ!”] “Yes, I heard you” ($6.00)—and as I am typing those three words—

“So, do you love me, too??” ($6.20)

["Mother fucking shit!”] “YES, I was just typing it! I love you.” ($6.40)

“I love you, too” ($6.60)

“Goodnight, Swami” ($6.80)

“Jees, why didn’t you just combine those last two short texts?” ($7.00)

“The ‘goodnight’ was an afterthought” ($7.20)

“At 10 cents a word, keep your ‘afterthoughts’ to yourself!” ($7.40)

“Okay” ($7.60)

[“Now she’s up to 20 cents a word!” Well, at least it stayed below $8.00”]

“I miss you already!” ($7.80)

“What part of ‘shut the fuck up already’ didn’t you get ($8.00) ["Damn it!"]

“I don’t remember you writing that” ($8.20)

“SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!” ($8.40)

“Okay.” ($8.60)

“THAT’S NOT SHUTTING THE FUCK UP. THAT’S YOU STILL TYPING AND COSTING ME MORE MONEY!” ($8.80)

“I got it. You don’t have to yell.” ($9.00)

After this exchange, I immediately traded my cell phone to a street thug for a cheap, unmarked gun, which I planned to use to kill not only Roach but also everyone at Verizon…just because. The next day on my way to plug Roach, I bumped into the street thug who insisted I give him his gun back, that “Some crazy bitch just keeps text messaging me!” So my plans for mass murder and the after-rampage peace of mind I’d get going to jail, knowing that I was supporting the greatest growing industry in our country—the prison system—was foiled by text messages!

This black hole gravitation to text message reflects not just that people’s lives are so miserable that if they can take any opportunity to play on their little pocket toy they will (growing up in the impoverished town of Scarsdale, when I asked my Dad if I could have a pocket toy in which to play with, he responded, “Play with your pecker, bitch!” My Dad had a speech impediment and so “X” often came out sounding like “bitch”), but the sad state of our communication.

I once had a girl I was trying to connect with, and by “connect” I mean fuck, who I met only online through craigslist. After a dozen of these back and forth emails that were not serving my penis in any way, I invited her to a class I was teaching and said how face-to-face is much better communication than email. She actually disagreed with me and defended a position that email communication is actually better communication, that “you get to think a little more and—“ This girl was a moron and not even the possession of a vagina could keep me interested in her.

It also reflects how lonely people are. Someone can no longer go shopping without either calling or texting a friend or lover because, god forbid they should keep both hands on their shopping cart instead of risking a total pile up…Are we really that needy to share with another everything we’re doing. “Hey Joe. I’m taking a shit now…Pretty smooth…I had to push a little and my stomach muscles cramped up a bit but it came out in one plop…What?…No, I don’t think you can get a hernia that way.”

The other thing our dependence on cell phones indicates is that we have allowed our lifestyles to become so hectic that the only way we can survive in our business, or keep in touch with our friends and loved ones, is by filling the “empty” time with “productivity.” And that is a big reason that our consciousness level is remaining below the threshold of full awareness, because we look at certain moments as a “waste” of time and others as “a good use” of our time.

I was in the park with my dog one night and this couple asked me how to get to some lake, as they had “time to kill.” I pointed out how sad it is that we want to throw away time and how on our deathbeds we most probably will be begging for just a little more time (well, not me—I’ll be killed suddenly by a Muslim extremist who has no idea about love or God and will kill me because of a future piece I will write that I’ll entitle “Fuck Muhammad.”) They agreed with me and I then told them that the moment for them to beg for more time was now and beat them to death with a rock. I don’t believe in killing time—only humans.

A client of mine checks his Crackberry after every set of exercise we do. I told him he was a douche and he said that he receives about 200 emails a day and this is the only way he can keep up. He failed to mention his complete insecurity about himself and how he thinks if he misses even one “important” email that just might help him to bring in more business to his law firm that he will be fired because his self-worth is only measured by the number of hours he can bill.

Most people are texting others either because their life has lost all excitement and they are a loser with no better toys, they are so lonely that they can’t even fathom taking a piss without letting someone know about it, their schedule is as tight as a nun’s vagina and this is the only way they can hope to even touch base with anyone they know, or they are a communicational dysfunct and like the feeling of safety that typing in fragments with douchy things like “LOL” and little character smiley or frowny faces gives them, in the same way that I use the Internet to pick-up 10-year olds who I’m too nervous to approach at the schoolyard. So which type of douche are you?

One would think that with all the douchebags out there that every vagina would be spic n’ span and the smell of vinegar would float in the air like the aroma of fresh bread from a bakery. But vaginal hygiene alone is irrelevant when you have a bunch of ridiculous pricks out there that prefer to spend time text messaging a vagina instead of entering one in person.

Text messaging is fine if you’re going to meet someone at a restaurant and you type in, “Where is it located?” and they type in “860 9^th Avenue, between 50^th & 51^st ” but other than that—stop all the annoying text messaging, douchebags!

This entry was posted on Monday, October 19th, 2009 at 7:15 pm and is filed under Self-Reflection. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.