I think I've finally figured out why more and more people are having trouble existing without a cell phone on their person. I'd like to tell you people that it's ok, I understand. Sex addiction, like typhoid fever, black lung and psychosis is a disease. It's time to swallow the bitterest pill and take back your life without phone.
Cell phones have never made me happy. The thought that I am obligated to answer the phone no matter where I am or what I'm doing seems counterproductive and sinister, but nowhere near as evil as the little electronic bleat my first cell made when someone demanded my attention. Like jamming a Q-tip in just a little too far to dig out that elusive ball of wax, my cell phone ring annoyed me to the point of anguish. So I turned it off.
Unfortunately not everyone has mastered that button with the circle-encompassed line. Realizing the soul-wrenching tone of those rings, cell companies installed what the addicted refer to as "options", also known as downloads. If Muzak didn't kill Iron Maiden surely Rogers will. The annoyance increased exponentially, and so the vibrating phone was born.
At first it seemed a godsend. No longer did phones blurt out in movie theaters, the world seemed at peace once again. But as pockets across the continent started to silently stimulate, the reluctance to leave home without a fully charged phone grew. Soon asses were shifting in classroom chairs and under boardroom tables as a society with a sickness danced to the vibe. Addicted to the pleasant stroke of the ring, people young and old mastered the glance and dash, racing for a private spot where they could act on the sensations in their pants. The world became ill, unable to function without the caress of the vibration mode.
The cell phone companies would have you believe that you can't live without it, you need that buzz in your pants. You may believe it too, already addicted to getting off at the fingers of your lover, your parents, and strangers who hit the wrong key and wait to see who answers. But realize that you have the power to turn it off, take the phone out of your pants. There's a whole sensual world that has nothing to do with the vibration mode. Try it, leave your phone at home, make plans in advance, savour the anticipation of catching up over coffee instead of spilling your guts to a plastic battery-operated device. The longer you can last without that buzzer in your boxers, the easier it will be to get off on real people and real things.
Is that a Virgin in your pocket or are you just glad to see me? Seriously, figure that one out and then we'll talk. I've got your number.
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Well said! I'm astounded at how many people wander around with their ears (or increasingly their eyes) glued to those diminutive demons. I own a cell, but no one except my wife knows the number. I carry it when I might need to call home or arrange a rendezvous. Conceivably, it might be useful in an emergency. But using it for a real conversation is unthinkable. Then again, most of the cell phone conversations I overhear would not qualify for that adjective.
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