Welcome to Cell Phone Users Anonymous. My name’s Patrick, and I bought a cell phone.
Like others here, I told myself that it would never happen to me. Cell phones are for SUV-driving, iMac-using, pretentious yuppie fucks, and I’d sooner take a Motorola up my virgin Irish ass than put one to my ear.
But then one day I had to borrow a friend’s cell because my Acura threw a power steering belt in the middle of San Francisco, killing four. If it hadn’t been for that call, I wouldn’t have been able to arrange for a later appointment with that hooker, and would have been forced to jerk myself off manually.
So I broke down and bought a plan with Sprint PCS, the only service that covers the whole country. It’s also the cheapest because they only have one cell phone antenna tower, which is located on a truck that drives from city to city across America. The way it works is that if you think you’re going to make or receive a call in a couple weeks or something, you check in advance at their website to see where the truck will be. Then you can take a flight there and make your call with crystal-clear reception, provided you stay within 100 yards of the truck, which travels at breakneck speeds.
For $30, I get 300 minutes per month. Of course, all the good minutes were taken, so I got stuck with 1:38am to 6:38am next Tuesday. That reminds me, I need to get a flight to Minneapolis by then. I’m confident that the crystal-clear reception there will justify the very real ice crystals that will be forming on my balls. The new phones are great, too. Mine is the size of a Jolly Rancher and is weightless, thanks to its Lithium-Helium battery. I don’t have to worry about disturbing professors and classmates by having my phone ring annoyingly in class, because I can set my ringer type to any of a hundred unique sounds, including “Virtual Flatulence” and “Screaming Jungle Monkey.” It even has an Internet connection, but it’s frustrating because naked boobies just don’t show up well on a 1-centimeter dot-matrix screen.
And let me tell you something–cell phones really do amp up your social status. Why, I got laid three times on my way to the last Squelch meeting. That’s 50% higher than normal! So, while to you, I may be another J.Crew-wearing, smoothie-slurping, day-trading capitalist cocksmuggler, I feel I’m just doing my job by embracing Convenience, Peace of Mind, and this shapely phone-groupie here who’s desperately trying to undo my pants. God Bless America!
