Look. It’s just a fucking phone. I don’t know if it appeals to your inner child who’s never gotten over the novelty of a walkie talkie. I don’t know if the mere magic of a wireless communication device is clouding your easily befuddled mind. I don’t even care that you can take a photo of your ass with the damn thing and send it to your buddies as a joke is a source of endless amusement to you.
It’s a FUCKING PHONE. A device which, at it’s best, is still an Alexander fucking Graham bloody Bell TELEPHONE!!!
Get over the fucking novelty of it all. When I’m speaking to you, don’t keep reaching for your hip and pulling it out to check who’s messaging you every 30 seconds. It’s distracting and we all know that nothing you do is THAT important. If it were that fucking important, you’d have a secretary to take your messages. And you still would not be that important.
Unless lives depend on you and your ability to respond to a call, I need you to focus on what I’m saying. Yes, “Ring-Dingy” recorded by your child’s voice is very precious as a caller ID ring. But not during a business meeting, which is already longer than it needs to be. Focus you A.D.D. retard, so we can all get out of here and get on with our day.
You! Ya, the one with the blackberry type thing that never leaves your hands. Nobody is impressed that you’re that wired. You look more like a dog with a wireless fence collar than a savvy connected player. Knock that shit off. I know it’s just your S.O. asking if you’d remembered to pick up the dry cleaning. Is there a moment in your day that you can entertain an uninterrupted thought longer than 60 seconds?
Mainlining digital noise monkeys!!! (Oooo! Band name!!!)