Still Stupid About Smart Phones II

Until not that very long ago, I was still stupid about smart phones. 

It's not that I'm a Luddite or otherwise particularly behind the times, it's just that I was waiting until we had cars that drive themselves before I got myself a phone that did anything more than ring up Ol’ Doc Johnson because Little Timmy was sick and Lassie was missing. 

But with the advent of cars so advanced that not only can they drive themselves they can also stop and ask directions and then get the directions screwed up, it was time for me to step up to a stepped-up phone.

It was time for iPhone for mePhone.

But I swore that in so doing I would not fall prey to the custom most foul practiced by smart phone owners around the world.  I would not spend the rest of my life with my head tilted downward, my eyes riveted upon the phone, and my psyche oblivious to the rest of the Milky Way around me.

For one thing, it's rude. These days you can meet someone on the street, talk for five minutes, and not even know who you were talking to. You may not even know whether the person was wearing pants.  And even worse, it isn't safe. With eyes locked onto the screen 24/7 you risk all kinds of mishaps from bumping into one another (especially unpleasant if neither of you are wearing pants), to walking down an open manhole, to striding into the Pacific Ocean until you trip over the International Date Line.

So when I got my iPhone, I took it in hand and walked proudly forward out of the Verizon store, my head held high, my eyes gazing straight ahead, and my life firmly rooted in reality. 

How did I manage to do this?

Simple.  I'm a loser who doesn't get any e-mails or texts.

I'm not in business anymore so there's no e-mails from bosses, co-workers, or anyone who wants me to do anything more than get out of bed occasionally. My circle of acquaintances and friends having shrunk like a linen jacket in the dryer, I get texts from Verizon about my overdue bill, friends who think they might have left gloves at my house six months ago, and elderly Uncle Ted who is experimenting with texting and didn't mean to text me, which is okay because I don't have an Uncle Ted.

And as I walk around fully perceiving and totally in touch with my environment, all around me are the cool people enmeshed into their smart phones, studying their screens as though they are little slot machines constantly coming up with three cherries.  

Me, I don't even get one pit.  

Where are all the Nigerian princes when you need them?

So it’s time to beef up my social networking life.  Subscribe to some interesting blogs like A Presbyterian’s View of Tooth Decay, Gardening in Greenland, and Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Gherkins. And political sites Sensible Gun Regulation Now!, Save the Earth Now!, Screw Wayne LaPierre Now!, Save the Earth While Screwing Wayne LaPierre Now!, and Wayne LaPierre and Gherkins: Screw Them Both ... Now!”

That’s it.  Getting there.

And subscribe to internet journalism in the form of esteemed sites like TruthRipper, FactForker, and BuzzKill, as well as the dating site JuicyJews.com.  And subscribe to The Ballsy Boomer about aging in place, that place being a strip joint near Schwenksville PA.  And start sending out texts to folks I barely know, including Uncle Ted whom I probably know better than all the rest of them.

And now with head held low and eyes straight downward, I daily risk mortal injury in the form of walking into a revolving door and going around forever in four neatly sectioned pieces.

Now I’m just like everyone else.

So, looks like I'm still stupid about smart phones.

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Cupid Saves the World

   Cupid, the now retired Greek God of Love, was quizzical.

"Hey, Cupid, we’re trying to work on your memoir The Boy Who Shoots the Arrows, remember?" I said.  "So far we're only up to Chapter 1, Adventures in the Womb."

"I'm sorry, Perry, but I just don't understand how you 21st century Americans are running an idiot for President."

"Well, look, your gods weren't so tightly wrapped either,” I replied. “Zeus had poor Prometheus bound and sent an eagle to eat his liver every day."

"True, and Zeus was so cruel he assigned the job to an eagle who hated liver."

"But you’re right, Cupid, Trump is way worse than Zeus. At least Zeus had a half way decent toupee.

“Come on, Perry,  let's give Trump a taste of antiquity!”

“But he’s in New Jersey at a rally. How are we getting there?”

"Hello! I’m Cupid, I got wings.” 

"You can take me?"

"Yes, but if you start singing I Believe I Can Fly, I'm going to drop you."

In a twinkling of an eye - not that mine have ever twinkled - we were at a Trump rally in New Jersey.   We entered the building and there on the podium in front of us was Donald Trump, giving one of his cogent well-thought through speeches.

"Folks," he said, "I have decided that instead of banning all Muslims from entering the United States, I will ban only the ones who do not speak Yiddish."

"Yeah, Donald!" shouted a man in the crowd. "What a genius!"   

"And we will build a ten foot high wall around Salma Hayek!"

"A true leader!" screamed a woman in the front.

"Crooked Hillary would be the worst President ever, including Grover Cincinnati!"

"And Grover Cincinnati was terrible!" yelled another adherent.

"This is even worse than I thought," moaned Cupid. "The orange comb-over is the most reasonable thing about the guy."

"What are you going to do, Cupid? Call in Zeus? Will he work for scale?" 

"No, I'm going to use one of my arrows on Trump."

"But you said now that you’re retired your arrows only work to make the person admire one's clothes, not their bod."

"Just watch," said Cupid.

THWACK!

The arrow found its mark and in a twinkling of the eye - not that Trump's eyes or any part of him have ever twinkled -  he started babbling.

"What a great sweater, young lady!  Love the color of your jacket!  You're very well-tailored, sir. Hey, I really dig that man bun!"

The shocked crowd began to leave. ”He's not lying, he's not distorting, and he’s not insulting anyone,” they complained. “He’s boring our asses off. Let’s go check out Bernie Sanders!"

"You did it, Cupid!" I exulted. "You've saved the world!"

"Well, it may not hold, but at least we've learned one thing."

"What's that?"

"The only person with orange hair who should ever be president is Alfred E. Neuman!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Splish Splash (FF)

FF - Flash Fiction

copyright - C.E. Ayr

Last Sunday I went up to New York to visit my cousin Kevin, and as always we spent most of the time talking about how to contend with the relentless global warming. Just as we do in Philadelphia, when the heat gets unbearable New Yorkers splash around in any of the multiple bodies of water surrounding the city.

Monday morning it was so hot we joined thousands of New Yorkers and dove into New York Harbor.  The water was blessedly cool and just as I surfaced I saw what looked like a majestic crown also surfacing above the waters.

"Lady Liberty too?"  I asked.

"Ahh shit," bellowed Kevin, "there goes the day and every play on Broadway as well."

"But why?"

"It's Midtown's day to towel dry her."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm pleased to present this cautionary tale about climate change.  If we're not careful about the environment, we'll all be required to towel down the iconic statues in every city where we live, and frankly I don't feel like getting that up close and personal with Rocky.

The other Friday Fictioneers have their own takes on the picture prompt above and you can check them out by clicking here.  If you don't do it, you're all wet!

I hate that joke.  I deserve to be drying Lady Liberty's private parts.

Ask Your Doctor If a Hot Actor Portrayal Is Right for You

                      

                   

Without Hot Actor Portrayal                                       With Hot Actor Portrayal

These days through the magic words  “ask your doctor if such and such is right for you,” pharmaceutical products of all kinds can now be advertised directly to the general public on television.  

But a funny thing happened on the way to your TV tube: the sick and generally lousy looking patients who actually take the drugs are missing in action in the commercials hawking them and instead we're shown an array of great looking actors portraying the patients feeling great, looking great, and having the time of their lives ...

That is, after the drugs kick in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Most of my life has been spent contending with the misery of Kropotkin's Disease. I was constantly worried that at any time, day or night, my esophagus might inch its way up my chest, clamber out of my mouth, and attempt to strangle me! 

Some days taking care of the kids was just too much of a burden, especially on those days when my esophagus would try to attack them too. Every part of my life became a struggle!

Then I heard about Romero, and I asked my doctor if portrayal by a hot actor in a Romero commercial was right for me. He told me that a hot actor portrayal would turn me into an unbelievably sexy 25 year old blonde with perfectly proportioned boobs. He said I'd be running through fields of beautiful flowers, swimming and sunning myself on the beaches at Monte Carlo, and having sex with George Clooney!

And here I am!  Oh, George, get your hands off my tits!"

Voiceover: Hot Actor portrayal in a commercial for Romero is not for everyone. Depending upon the hot actor we hire, you may not become drop dead gorgeous and in fact may only become moderately beautiful.  Running and swimming with perfect effortless coordination may not occur; you may acquire the ability to do something else world class like masterfully play a wide variety of musical instruments instead. 

You may wind up having sex with another A-list star, not George Clooney, but no less than Clive Owen. Tell your doctor about all other drugs that you may be taking as a reaction may cause you to become only a 9 or high 8 instead of a ten. 

"Ask your doctor if a hot actor portrayal in a Romero commercial is right for you. You might wind up looking and living like me. Or the stuff may fucking kill you."


And ...


"I was crossing the street here at rush hour and I just got myself run over by a garbage truck.  See? Those are my guts spilled all over the highway. Every one of my internal organs is now an external organ! There’s so much blood here it looks like a catered Bar Mitzvah for Count Dracula’s nephew!

Then I asked my doctor about Zipupian which is specially formulated to treat people who’ve been smashed to bits by a truck, and he told me about hot actor portrayal in a commercial for Zipupian.  And look, here I am playing quarterback in the NFL with my gorgeous alluring girlfriend waiting for me on the sidelines! And it’s a bright sunshiny day too!

Voiceover: Hot actor portrayal in a commercial for Zipupian is not for everyone.  In some instances some of your guts will remain spilled on the highway, and your ability to play football in the NFL and garner an alluring girlfriend may be limited depending upon whether you continue hemorrhaging indefinitely. Tell your doctor about all medicines you are taking because he or she generally likes to know what that icky stuff is that’s oozing out of you. 

And remember, some days the weather is going to be overcast too.

"Ask your doctor if a hot actor portrayal with Zipupian is right for you.  But if you've already been hit by that truck like I have, don't expect much in the line of the actor portraying you. Expect John C. Riley or less."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So what about you, folks?  Is a hot actor portrayal right for you?

I don't think it could hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~