Cell Phone Guy

by James MacLaren

Yeah yeah, I know I know, these people are too easy. Like shooting fish in a barrel. But goddamnit, I’m sick of these motherfuckers and I just don’t care.

Cell Phone Guy is suffering from an obvious case of television poisoning. The dumb sonofabitch has seen one too many commercials showing young, good-looking people, yapping into some infernal contraption they’re holding in their hand, and smiling as if they just got told they’ve won the lottery.

And so, being the lemming that he is, Cell Phone Guy goes out and gets his very own cell phone and proceeds to take it with him wherever he goes.

Which means that he’s basically not there, wherever he goes. Interesting concept, eh?

Count on the doofus to block doorways, merge left in traffic without looking, and generally fail to pay the least attention to his surroundings as he yammers into his precious little gizmo. In his own mind, he thinks that everybody else has the same envious feelings he got when that TV commercial finally destroyed his last neuron and turned him into the blissful idiot that he has now become. He thinks that we all want to be just like him.

Jesus, but is Cell Phone Guy ever stupid.

We hate him. We hate his little cell phone. We hate the moron on the other end of the line that he’s talking to. We hate the TV commercial that drove him over the brink. We hate his designer shoes. We hate his bubble-headed wife. We hate the real estate company he works for. We hate his yuppiemobile. We hate everything about him.

But Cell Phone Guy will never know any of this. He’s busy. He’s on the phone.

Fuck off, asshole.