Good Vibrations
Dear Verizon
Can you hear me now? Good!
A word, if you please. Actually several hundred. You see, my litte phone thingy isn't quite up to snuff. Sure, it's got the nice color screen, the sleek, slim, silvery, thou-art-coveting-thy-neighbor's-wifey design. It has the polyphonic ringtones, the text-messaging, the nationwide coverage. It is almost complete.
There's a word. Almost.
For you see, I like to actually answer my calls when they come, yet be discreet about notification of said calls. I call your attention to the absolutely pathetic vibration function of my covetous-wifey phone. Verizon, you should be ashamed of yourselves - the lethargic vibing of this otherwise-perfect phone unit would barely get a small animal off. I doubt its subtle tremors would inspire even the slightest erection in a hamster, and the runt of the litter at that. Admittedly, animals' sexual response isn't quite the function for which it was intended, but for God's sake show a little ingenuity, this is the age of multi-function personal devices after all.
I want stronger vibration - I am unashamed. I want to be thrown out of my seat. I want an earthquake in my pocket. I want my vibration function so strong that fellow train passengers think that an angry wild boar is battling to escape my pants every time I recieve a call. This way, I would never miss another call. How am I supposed to be notified otherwise?
So please, big V (I know you like it when I call you that), gimme some good vibes before I resort to drastic methods. Like putting a wild boar in my pants. Think of the children!
Sincerely
An Englishman
thus spake The Englishman at 11:01 AM
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Friday, July 16
Perks of the job
There are precisely 1,138 government-subsidized benefits extended to people who are married. Here are a few I think should be added to make it a nice, round 1,147, and to promote harmony and sanity in an endeavour which can, at times, be anything but:
~ The option to engage in a pistol-duel at dawn to settle marital disputes - You know she's quick on the draw, and has a deadly aim. . .do you really want to argue over who does the dishes?
~ Free medical aid for couples who engage in a pistol-duel at dawn to settle marital disputes
~ Free strip-club visits for him when she's pissing him off. . .
~ Free strip-club visits for her when he's pissing her off. . .
~ . . .and a nice little government subsidy to take the financial edge off the 'Champagne Room' in both cases. . .
~ If marriage is so important to the government, they should pay for the catering. Cake-cutting fee, my married ass.
~ Men should be able to charge emergency "I'm sorry" bouquets to a federal account - because when we need them, we really need them.
~ A 6-man security detail to ensure my wife never ever finds herself alone in a room with Taye Diggs.
~ A 12-man security detail to ensure my wife never ever finds me alone in a room with Mary McCormack (better known by her stage-name "The Mom from Dickie Roberts"). This does not preclude me from finding myself alone with her*.
*What? I gave her the stripclub, and I'm the one writing the list - deal.
thus spake The Englishman at 10:41 AM
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Wednesday, July 7
The Fat Red Line
There are times in life when you have to strike a delicate balance between two very tempting extremes.
Killing, is a good example. For you see, son, if you strangle several people in 1970's Boston, people will label you as a murderer, a mere serial killer. Vaporize 2 million with the power of the atom, however, and you earn the title 'Conqueror'.
But you gotta know when to slow down: If you look back, and you're glimpsing the 8 hundred billion mark, you may have taken it a little bit too far.
thus spake The Englishman at 8:04 AM
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