I don’t like cell phones. And I really don’t like cell phone companies. I won’t name my provider, because I’m just a little guy and if I slander them in front of the ten or twelve people who read my blog, the company might send their cellular henchmen over in the middle of the night to “disconnect” me.
Recently, I wanted to get rid of my Blackberry Storm. It was a piece of junk. I was so unhappy with it that I had decided to cancel my service and buy an iPhone, because iPhones have all those cool little widgets and toys that nobody really needs but are great to have when you’re stuck in a boring meeting at work.
But when I went to the store to close my account, the slick salesman there demonstrated the new Motorola Droid. It’s called the iPhone killer. It’s really sexy. It has a great camera, both still and video. It has Internet access, email, loads of games, GPS so I won’t get lost, Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, currency converters, a compass, a level, you name it.
Best of all, the salesman said it comes with a little free application called Google Star Maps. He told me, “it can even find your anus.” I thought this was great, because I had hemorrhoids and had been jabbing myself in the ass with those freaking suppositories for weeks and was damn cranky about it. I was sold.
I signed up for another two-year contract, took the phone home, ran to the bathroom, plugged it in and fired it up. And you know what? The phone salesman lied to me! When I typed in “anus,” all it did was bring me to Google and show me a bunch of porno. What a gyp.
I guess I misunderstood what he was saying. But at least I made all my iPhone-owning friends jealous when I show them Uranus. Even though my ass still hurts.