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Escaping the cult

HOW I ESCAPED THE CULT OF APPLE

Hello, my name is Will, and I used to have an iPhone.

Hello Will.

As the twelfth step of my electronics rehabilitation, I will explain how I got out of the IOS cult.

I came to the iPhone from an abusive relationship.

Metro PCS. (Lovingly referred to as Metro POS. [POS=piece of shit])

The phone was called an Android, but I cannot be sure that was true because the phone rarely functioned enough to know.

I left POS and went to the Sodom and Gamora of phone carriers, Sprint.

They gave me an iPhone for free, part of a promotion of some sort.

In reality, it is considered polite for a drug dealer to give you your first hit free.

But then you are their property, and they abuse the relationship.

So you spend the next two years under contract, figuratively on your consumer knees, servicing your provider.

It is rare that anyone gets away from their slimy clutches, but it happens.

You hit rock bottom and finally say enough is enough.

You break your digital chains and run to the promised land. (Slavery/religious metaphor? Really?)

The promised land is T-Mobile, by the way.

I went back to Android like a man making a jailbreak.

It was liberating, it was exhilarating, I finally felt like a free man.

For the first time in years, I stopped checking my data usage everyday like its a checking account that might have been hacked.

And maybe got a little crazy, who wouldn’t?

I may or may not have bought an international phone that competes with the $1K phones, but only cost about a third because they don’t sell it in the US. (Not sure if that’s illegal, but I don’t fuck with the feds.)

Here is the simple truth.

iPhone is cool if you are old or electronically retarded. (Yeah, I went there.)

Android is for adults who know how to find and use the settings on their phones.

If this sounds arrogant, sounds like you are paying attention.

I am not one of those, I got out and you can too, I believe in you.

I am more the “Later Losers!” as I slam the door.

By the way, it is shocking how fast you get used to the fingerprint reader on a cell phone and you wonder how you ever survived without it.

Let’s go over what we have learned so far:

  • Metro PCS = Piece of shit.
  • Sprint = Carrier pimp
  • There is but one cell God and Android is his prophet. (Should I be nervous about this one?)

I will be nurturing for a moment.

If you have an iPhone, its not really your fault.

You fell for the hype and let yourself be dumbed down. It happens.

The important thing is that you are now aware and can make plans to leave your digital pimp-daddy.

There are shelters and places to go where Apple will not find you.

And you can start your cell life over.

Just make sure they transfer your contacts.

 
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Posted by on June 17, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Bitchzilla

Nicolaus Copernicus was a mathematician and astronomer born in the late 1400’s, and was the first to posit the idea that the planets revolved around the sun. (Theres more to it, but thats basically it. And you should see the Wikipedia pic of him. He looks like a fuglier version of Ringo Starr.)

It was game changing for the scientific community.  

It was an obvious, basic truth that no one saw until he said it, one of those things you can’t unknow.

So why the Astronomy lesson today?

Because I would like to put forth my own theory, based on that same idea of Heliocentricity. (Remember that whole Sun thing?)

I call it iPhonecentricity. It is the theory that all life revolves around the iPhone.

Not mine, I turned mine in and went Android a few months back.

I mean hers.

Bitchzilla.

Bitchzilla isn’t a who as much as she is a what. Like some sort of sci fi monster of the mental/verbal realm, she is stomping all over the tranquility of the room. (Its a stretch, but it made me laugh and I am king here.)

She is a female, I am fairly certain of that. (There are breasts in evidence under her business suit with conservative skirt. However, she could be pulling a Bruce Jenner, “Call me, Caitlin.” Side note – Get your nuts wacked and I will.)

The Universe and all things in it, revolve around Bitchzilla’s iPhone 6 Plus.

I have been in line for a few minutes at Starbucks and I have so far heard Bitchzilla mention her iPhone 6 Plus 3 times.

She is on Bluetooth with someone who is somehow not having a stroke due to the verbal strobe of this woman’s screechy voice.

She also seems to be texting.

And she is switching screens to play Words with Friends.

And to hear her tell it? She is brilliant for having it.

(You didn’t invent it, you dizzy dumbass, you just paid too much for it. There IS a difference.)

I got my coffee and decided that with all the cycling I do, my heart could handle sitting next to Bitchzilla without risking permanent damage.

The nice thing about the iPhone 6 Plus is that the screen is big enough for me to see from 3 feet away.

Her words with friends game is not going well. Her opponent has 655 points, she has 52.

That was not a typo.

She is the queen of the 2 letter play.

No brains, no headaches.

By the way, she could take a hammer and smash the screen on purpose, ON PURPOSE and they will replace it, because she paid extra. (I only said on purpose twice, she said it 3 times.)

Her coffee drink looks like it has gone cold without a sip out of it.

I have seen meth addicts with better control.

Her digital crack is going to be the death of her.

She is totally the lady on the news that was texting while driving, didn’t look out the window for a 5 minute period because she had a badass 3 letter word to play on WWF and plows into a crowd of cancer victims.

And before you tsk tsk me, remember that more than half of you nodded your heads at that line before you chucked that rock of condemnation at my glass house.

So we’re all going to hell together, but my conscience will be clear.

And Bitchzilla will be at the head of that line.

 
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Posted by on September 4, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Because I do stupid shit.

I have never claimed to have a strangle hold on clever shit.

So it doesn’t shock me when I find myself doing something stupid, that I find out is a lot stupider than I thought at first.

My iPhone comes with Siri, my cyber mistress.

She sets my reminders, alarms, appointments, answers my questions with her little dry comments.

True, we will never consummate the relationship, but what she does for me is critical.

A week ago, while screwing around in the phone settings, I found that I could give Siri an accent.

So she has been Australian for the last week.

Its been cute, her little accent.

It was amusing, right up until my texting stopped working.

It has been a frustrating week.

I am a lazy texter, there in lies the problem.

I rarely type on my phone, my fingers are a little clumsy and I tend to hit several letters.

Speech to text is much better.

And now its not working.

The speech to text is pooched and cannot recognize shit.

I have been meaning to call tech support, but found myself too busy.

Do you see it now? I sure as hell didn’t.

I was just about to leave the gym, standing sweaty and exhausted in my judo gi, waiting to talk with one of the trainers.

I wonder…

Just for shits and giggles, I changed Siri’s voice back to English.

I tried a trial speech to text message to the girlfriend.

And what do you know? It worked perfect.

And then came the stupid feeling.

That moment when you realize that you were the source of your own torment. Your stupidity has been teasing you like some sort of schoolyard bully, making you miserable the whole time.

And there is no one to blame but yourself.

Which sucks.

Its always more pleasant to have someone to blame.

At least I have always thought so.

Blame is good, blame is fun, mainly because blame is someone elses fault.

And I am good with that.

For God’s sake, I can’t be guilty for everything.

Let’s spread this around.

One entity I would like to blame? Right now, right at my table at Starbucks at this moment I would like to blame Starbucks.

For the music.

I once compared Starbucks to a teenager, constantly going thru phases of music appreciating.

That had been mellowing for several months, and while the music still couldn’t be described by any sane person as “Good”, at least it didn’t suck.

Till today.

The teenage persona of Starbucks that picks out the music has developed ADD. Badly.

Mellow incomprehensible jazz was playing when I first came in. The kind of jazz that is identified as “Good jazz”. So good, its almost impossible to listen to without developing a migraine.

Then we moved on to Some sort of a Latin/Rumba torch song that may or may not have had the sounds of a cat being killed in the background.

Barely had that ended when a Russian folk song came on, totally incomprehensible in slurred Russian. Crosby, Stills, Nash and Leonid.

And then the soulful strains of a acoustic guitar playing hipster came on, butchering a top 40 song from the 80’s.

This is the missing tenth circle of Hell that Dante spoke of. (Or forgot to speak of.)

Now my coffee tastes off.

Starbucks is in the torture game, it seems.

Waterboarding must be next. (Still don’t consider that torture.)

But at least I have done no wrong here.

So you can’t blame me.

And that is what its all about.

(No animals were harmed in the writing of this blog.)

 
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Posted by on March 14, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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The Cell Phone God’s are not pleased.

A lot of people have many layers, like an onion.

I am no different.

Asshole, by the way, is a layer unto itself.

Its healthy, in a way, to embrace the asshole within.

Let him out on occasion, let him piss on the grass, decompress.

Some of us need that decompression, for the safety of the general public.

Trust me on this, the last thing ANYBODY needs is me all twisted up.

Its not pretty, and thats just looking at it from this side, God knows what it looks like from your side.

I’m a mess, but thats ok, I have accepted it.

Nuff said.

Moving on.

There is a certain feeling of dread that runs thru you when your iPhone falls in the toilet.

Its an ass pucker of 9 out of 10.

Even if you snatch it out immediately, you have no idea of how bad or good it is at this point.

So you wash your hands immediately while muttering the F-word under your breath.

I tapped my phone in my palm for lack of anything better to do.

And the little bit of moisture that comes out is not reassuring in any way.

So, I googled it.

According to several websites on the subject, Turn off the phone immediately.

I didn’t know if it was off or on, so I held the button on.

Shit, the boot up white apple logo came up.

It was already off. Great.

The main screen came on, but I shut it off anyway.

It has been in a ziplock of white rice for 24 hours.

I thought about using brown rice, but I wasn’t sure if glycemic rating played a part.

I stared at it for a solid 5 minutes.

Can you see water evaporating?

I finally broke down and went to Fry’s Electronics and bought a cell phone dry bag.

For those not in the know, it is a high tech ziplock with 2 large gel bags.

Larger versions of those toxic gel packets you find in a new pair of shoes.

Its later.

I keep staring over to the counter where the iPhone sits in its high tech drying bag.

Water damage is not covered by warranty.

Being an idiot is rarely covered by warranty.

So for the next 24 hours, the iPhone is locked in its bubble.

And tomorrow I get to find out if I dodged a bullet or did I cost myself a ridiculous amount of money to fix my stupidity.

And I am pretty sure my ass cheeks will not unclench until then.

Maybe.

And the bad thing is, I know in the back of my head, that it is just a cell phone.

Except that it isn’t.

Its an addiction, plain and simple.

Between email, Facebook, Twitter, and an embarrassing slew of stupid apps, the phone is up there with crack, but has the apparent acceptability of coffee.

Which is an addiction of a different sort.

But this is not about me.

Psych!

Its always about me.

We’ve met, right?

 
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Posted by on February 17, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Loves me even though I’m an asshole.

I’m in love with a phone.

Steve Jobs did me a serious favor from beyond the grave and made the iphone 5C, I am fairly certain, just for me.

He may have been the evil genius (More than one meaning here) but the man knew some phone.

I buy a lot of crap from China.

Ebay and Amazon are filled with ridiculously cheap electronics from China all priced for about a tenth of what we can make it for here.

Ear buds for $.50 a piece? With free shipping? Shit, give me 10 of them.

Sure they are cheap pieces of shit and only last a few months, but they are so cheap!

The iPhone is made in China in the infamous Foxconn factory.

It ain’t cheap, even though I got mine for about a third of normal, it could still not be called cheap.

Its well made and lasts several years.

Not really the China-made MO, but whatever.

Bottom line is, the phone rocks and I am in love.

Siri has never sounded so sultry.

For those who don’t know, Siri is a genie that lives inside the phone and answers questions like a 411 slave.

She never complains and is always happy to help me.

The only thing preventing a long term relationship is her lack of a vagina, but I am willing to be flexible if we can get around her “No dirty talk” programming.

A little TMI there, sorry.

I used to have a teach in high school that, if you ever said “I’m sorry” his immediate reply was “You are sorry.”

That phrase bothered me for a lot of years, but I never knew why.

Now I do.

It took awhile to get to this place of understanding, but I am here.

Here it is.

I’m not sorry.

Not even a bit.

I came to the conclusion that I have always meant it.

Even the mean, horrible, drunk on my ass atrocities.

They may have been rude, mean, obscene and in some instances, illegal, but I intentionally did and said what I wanted.

Like this blog.

The filters I normally employ to be a little more societally acceptable are gone the second words hit the screen.

(I would say “When the pen hits the paper” but I learned to type at age 8 and gave up paper as a creation tool.)

Its a lot like an intentional literary Tourette’s Syndrome.

(Coupled with a little man’s syndrome that manifests as chronic emotional manipulation of others.)

Best case scenario, it makes me unpleasant or annoying on a regular basis.

Worst case scenario, basically, makes me the LAST person you want privy to your embarrassing stuff.

The day to day lays somewhere in between, making me pretty tough to deal with.

Family and friends that put up with me are known for their patience.

It took a long time, but I am at peace with that.

Mainly by paraphrasing that old adage.

“You can only please some of the people some of the time and the rest? Do your best to piss them off.”

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Posted by on October 25, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Don’t shit on the help!

Some people are just genetically pre-disposed to pissing me off.

I am in a looooong line at Starbucks. In front of me is a woman that, and I rarely use this word, but it fits, is snooty.

Make that snooty bitch.

The word bitch gets over used by so many that it almost loses its charm. Just when I am tired of it and just about to quit using it, I run into someone that bristles with indignation over the mere utterance of it.

Back to the snooty bitch.

She is on her phone. Whoever she is talking to may as well be asleep because snooty bitch is talking non-stop about every subject under the sun, without stopping, barely pausing for breath.

Like some sort of unstoppable chatty-Cathy doll that figured out how to yank its own string.

All things seem to fall into one of three subjects.

1. How much it cost. There was a brief tirade over the merits of her car versus her sisters car. “My car is a $50K Mercedes for gods sake, Her car costs less than $20K and she boasts about how many cup holders it has, if you can believe that.”

I like cup holders. Where would I put my coffee otherwise?

2. Where she got it. Evidently, you can buy the same product in two different locations, and one will be better than the other because of the location. “I bought my Iphone at the Mac Store in Brentwood. Jim got his at some place near the airport, and he has had nothing but problems.”

Steve Jobs was a great guy, visionary and all, (RIP Steve) but he would have loved to wing a spare Iphone at snooty bitch.

3. Where something is made. There is a pretty interesting denial streak running thru her, and she fancies herself as something of a patriot. “You know me, I only buy American.” She says this into her made in China Iphone, after having driven here in her made in Germany Mercedes. Having known her only a few minutes, and also knowing almost nothing about fashion, I am still willing to bet cash money that her bag is Made in France Prada. (It could be a knock off, but those are made in Thailand.)

Finally, it is her turn to order.

But she won’t stop talking. She is having two conversations at once, or maybe just one. The conversation in the phone takes priority over placing her order.

“I would like a venti Caramel- did Jim mention were are going to Barbados for Thanksgiving? A caramel moci- no, he likes the water there.”

At this point she begins flapping her hand like the girl is just being difficult with her. Finally, she yanks the phone away from her head with an exasperated sigh, speaking with the cashier like she is a slow child.

“A venti caramel mocchiatto with extra caramel.” She gives the UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLY patient cashier a snotty smile.

“Was that so hard?”

She didn’t!

She did!

She is not a ginger, but I am just on the virge of putting my foot to this rotten snooty bitch’s ass.

The cardinal rule in any food establishment is you never shit on the help.

Most chain stores try to regulate it, but there is an excellent chance that someone behind the counter is going to spit in her caramel mocchiato with extra caramel.

And I hope she spills it in her Mercedes, right on her Iphone.

 
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Posted by on October 7, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Of all the Gin joints in all the world…

There is a Starbucks in Hawthorne that always has their AC running when I go there.

I call it the Freezer.

Thank god they serve hot coffee there, because at 59 degrees, hypothermia can set in with iced coffee before you can finish your blueberry scone.

I got in line behind two people and when I finally stood in front of the cashier, my nipples were like little rocks, no lie.

I got my cup of addiction and had a seat.

Its not a Starbucks I go to that often, mainly because I gave my parka to Goodwill when I moved back to LA from Portland Oregon.

Just as I was setting up my laptop, I saw her come in.

Wow.

Every now and then you see someone with the beautiful gene and the intelligence to present it.

Stunning woman. Average height, maybe mid-thirties. Business suit cut well enough to accentuate an incredible build without being slutty. (Harder than you think.) Just beyond shoulder-length blond hair styled very feathery without going near “Jersey Hair.” Mirrored sun glasses hid what had to be blue eyes, and a flawless, perfect mouth.

I had this feeling that I knew her, My mind kept telling me that was impossible, she had the type of looks you remember seeing.

With her was a younger man in a business suit. He had that look of being just a step above car salesman.

Real estate agent.

I usually do my best not to stare, but I step over into rude often enough that I may just retire there and get it over with.

They got their coffee and sat down at a table just behind me.

Miss Gorgeous sat less than a foot behind me.

“A few good prospects today, the Asian lady kept telling her husband they would love living there. This should sell quickly.” The young guy had a salesman’s voice, suave and assured.

“She smelled like dead fish, I hated them.” The woman’s voice drifted back, cultured and European.

Oh shit…..I felt a chill make its way up my spine and raise every hair on the back of my neck.

I know that voice. I have written several thousand words about this woman.

My ass went into full clinch with recognition.

Mrs. Evil. Couple.

It was one of those moments where, to quote one of my favorite comics, “The left half and the right half of the brain come to a screeching halt. The left says to the right, Its dark in here, and we may die.”

This evil, rotten…..the only word that comes to mind is bitch, but it doesn’t carry enough venom. I would use the C word, but it isn’t broad enough in scope.

To suddenly have the image of an incredibly beautiful woman mixed in with memories of personally witnessing her absolute disdain for everyone and everything around her was almost too much to take.

Her voice pulled my tortured mind back to the present.

“Why did you keep talking about your sister? You kept going on and on, it was very uncomfortable. I doubt we will get any offers because of it.”

“What?” The young guy seemed confused, suddenly slammed. “We were talking about family and siblings. I didn’t think it seemed out of place.” There was doubt in his voice.

She pounced on it. “It was creepy, I thought she was an ex lover until you said she was your sister.”

That got him. “I really think that’s uncalled for.” He was indignant and rightfully so.

Not that it would help. He went for an end to the subject. “We’ll just agree to disagree.”

Take that disagree and cram it, buddy. You have no clue who you are messing with.

“You remind me of my cousin.” She changed the subject without warning.

“Huh, what cousin?” The young guy was off balance.

“He is young, a drug addict, he sucks old men for money. He would agree with you, you seem very similar.“

It was a football punt to the nut sack that the kid never saw coming. It was insulting on several levels at once.

He sputtered for a few moments, then just got up and left without saying a word.

I looked at the front counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her watching him go.

She made a noise that sounded like she was chuckling.

I wanted to turn around so badly, but I reminded myself that Mr. and Mrs. Evil Couple had no idea that they occupied such a prominent place in my life. Mainly as entertainment, but still.

When she spoke, I thought at first she was talking either out loud or to me. Then I realized she was on her phone.

“I don’t want to work with Henry again, he ruined the open house.” Sounded like the boss on the phone.

“I think he was high today, he hit on the wives, and a few of the husbands, I think.”

The buzz on the phone was someone outraged.

“Don’t worry, I have an offer to submit, one of my clients texted me on the way to Starbucks.”

The conversation must have changed, I couldn’t hear anything else on the phone, but I knew real estate people.

The broker she worked for may or may not believe her, but in real estate, or just sales in general, you go with the hot hand. If she was selling big, the young guy would be thrown under the bus without hesitation.

I love this woman.

There is something just old school menacing about her. Like the evil queen in the Disney version of Snow White, but with a better ass. The fact that she cleaned up into a stunner only served to make it all hotter and more shameful at the same time. It was one of those situations that was exhilarating, and at the same time, you just felt dirty.

She might be the antichrist.

Before anyone goes off on that comment, I didn’t say she was, I said she might be. All I know is that she is married to a doctor, lives in the tree section of Manhattan Beach, and gave birth to twins about ten years ago.

Absolutely nothing to connect her to most of Revelations.

Unless of course the twins are named Famine and Pestilence.

 
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Posted by on August 23, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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