Posted by: jamesthethickheaded | October 13, 2009

Inigo Montoya and the Princess Phone

The following is an excerpt from a letter to some of the guys we’re trying to “reach out to” for our 30th college re-union sometime this weekend. There was more, but you don’t really want to know all that. You probably don’t even want to know all this either, but it might bring back some memories… some more recent than others.

I don’t know my cell number. My kids say it wouldn’t matter anyway ’cause “Dad keeps it off”. I even have an i-Phone so that in addition to not taking in-coming calls, I won’t download stuff I can’t read. Although I do get email. Can’t read it too good ’cause the doggone screen… font ONLY gets big enough just before the car moves and you lose the signal. And then there’s all that tapping that goes on next… like on the outside of the window from the guy with the swirling light on top of his car and the gun on his belt. Yeah.

That guy with the pen and the receipt book… like he wants to know how you like your eggs: “With one bullet or two?” Reminds me of the guy with the nasty cigarette down at the Campus Grill  (a.k.a. the Campus Thrill) who’d just as soon as put his out in your coffee or on your head. “Whatcha lookin’ at college boy? So my eyeball bounces like a ping pong ball… I like it that way. How you think I keep this job? Waitin’ on you? fer’ ya’ midget tips… like I’m gonna feed a family of four on 35 cents? Doncha’ know the entertainment when you see it? Gonna be on America’s Got Talent, Ted Mac’s Amateur Hour or something… you’ll see.” And then he texts his buds, “ROTFL!” only they’re too dead from the nicotine and … I mean they’re in his tongue… and he doesn’t have a phone either. But that doesn’t stop him. I mean Shorty’s not all that sober, right? At least I don’t think he is… really… I hope he’s not like this sober… I  mean putting the lightbulb in his mouth like Uncle Fester was one thing… but punching his tongue on different places with his fingers…like they’re numbers is just sooooo out there. Weird. Even for the Thriller. Betcha Catherine Zeta Jones isn’t wondering whose network HE’s on, huh?

And this is so rich I’m punching my i-Phone, trying to tap out “ROTFL” and get a snap at the same time… only I can’t  get more than Safari to open. “Arrggh!”.  And I can’t send to anyone other than me… ’cause putting all that contact information into this thing is a lifetime I don’t have.  And guess what? I didn’t. So I’m puzzled and trying to figure out what time zone or life zone (is there such a thing?) I’m in so I can get one of my kids to help me out: “Um… Dad wants to send a text message… only he doesn’t know how to do it… can you help him out… I mean just do it… without all that mean things you say to him at these times? Thanks!”

Actually, cell phone number is xyz but it’s not hooked up to a gambling website, or Russian Bank, or African despot’s LOC. And I already tried to rip myself off from a remote location and it didn’t work. But if you do manage to get some money out of this thing “’cause it’s like “Three-freaking-Gee” … cut me in, huh? Y’know what this thing’s good for? No… I mean BESIDES Urban Spoon and “Tilt” games…. It’s good if you ever need to whack someone in the head with a phone…. ’cause it weighs a freaking ton and makes a good missile,… or use it as a flashlight… to find your keys. Oh yeah. And am I loving my $90 a month contract for a flashlight? Ya’ think? NOT. No, I’m selling it to the freaking Iranians so they put in on one of THEIR missiles and send it over somewhere useful… like to AT&T headquarters where it counts.. And then maybe if I’m lucky, the FBI will get wind of it, cancel my contract, and pay me not to? Think they could take this whole bit about FTC off my bill and just put an url linking me to the FBI? Now that would be a bill I’d pay!

So the moral of this story… the story of how I ended up here in Guantanmo this weekend instead of at the re-union  …is that this is what happens when you lose aPrincess-Bride-m03 good phone somewhere under a seat and then use it as an “opportunity” to replace it with something ’cause it’s “H-O-T”. Next time… when you see someone on an elevator with their faced squinched up, staring down at an I-phone… don’t think they really like it, that they’re cool, or know what they’re doing. They’re not and they don’t. Fact is, they’re trapped in a contract not of their making… and certainly not of their reading.

So, yeah… just go ahead and ask them.  “How’d ya’ like your i-Phone?” Typically they’ll answer something like Inigo Montoya in that way-macho Action film The  Princess Bride, “My name is Inigo Montoya… You killed my cellphone! Prepare to die!” and they’ll be quite insistent… they might even pull out a sword and say, “Ask me what I want…. anything at all… anything! Promise  me everything! Promise me…. you …. you six fingered  man! Okay… I’ll tell you… ha! I want my OLD cell phone back!”

‘Bout says it all, huh? Oh… BTW… I’m NOT the six fingered man, but it sure would comes in handy trying to press all those doggone buttons on my old phone. Guess that’s what sent me down this path in the first place, huh? But maybe like  Mr. Six Fingers… I’m better off at the other end of Inigo’s sharp pointy thing. Yeah. That’s it.


Responses

  1. ROTFL! (Sent from my computer with full keyboard). I went to Verizon to get my new 2 year contract phone and they were dumbfounded when I asked for a phone with no camera, no internet, no keyboard…just…a phone, with numbers on the keypad. “But you can get the new “I’m your Huckleberryphone for only 49.95! with a two year contract!” they said. Nope. A phone is a phone…I TALK on mine, I said. I’m not spending another 500.00 on getting a tri-focal prescription to read my phone. Big sigh from the salesman. So, yeah, don’t email my phone, call me, we’ll chat.

  2. […] worth of  “betterment” a month. This second chapter follows an earlier post, “Inigo Montoya and The Princess Phone” which gluttons for punishment may like better. Times were simpler once… and even simple […]


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