Smartphones Are Stupid

Smartphones Are Stupid
I hate this smartphone. I hate the wimpy sounding tune it plays instead of ringing. It sticks in my brain from hearing it so much, I'd like to slam the lid down on the fingers of the hands that are playing it. I can't figure out how to change it. Too cryptic. And it says 'swipe up' or 'swipe down' but nothing happens when you do. I have to swipe and swipe and swipe just to shut the stupid thing up every time my peace is invaded by a telemarketer, which averages about four times a day.

And the Macbook is misery. Ten thousand applications I'll never use. And when I try to use one, it doesn't work. I buy a movie from Apple TV and it won't play on my display because of 'hdcp' issues. I waste hours and hours just trying to figure out a fix - to no avail. And companies pushing scareware on you, trying to get you to fork out hundreds of dollars for unnecessary software. As if all the useless crap it comes with isn't enough. What a ripoff!

So it's 'hdcp' I'm supposed to look up on Google now? Another cursed acronym. That'll keep them in business. And how is that 'Arrive-Can' platform working? Why don't we ask Winston Smith down at the Mini-Truth? Well here's a new one for you: SIUYA! What the hell ever happened to whole words anyway? Have they become obsolete?

The new technology: great for scammers and telemarketers and hackers, and fuck all the rest of us! Give me back the old technology. This is a living nightmare. I'm not joking. I wish I could have died before life got this bad.

11:43am. I'm still trying to catch some sleep before my shift and this fucking phone plays again from another telemarketer. That's three different invasions since 10:30 this morning. The only time I like this phone is when it's turned off. I have a countless list of 1-800 numbers in my phone's memory now and I haven't answered a single one. I can't even find the few numbers I want because they're so buried under unwanted numbers. You call this progress?

4:24pm. Medically assisted suicide? Not for everyone, but not such a bad idea. Painless suicide can be very appealing to a man who feels more like a statistic than a man. After all, who wants to be a statistic; a number; a category? Who wants to be a fifty to sixty-five-year-old with a list of corresponding likes and dislikes? I would rather be a man, but that seems to be impossible. If you have dependants, I guess you're trapped here. Who depends on me but an army of frauds and hackers for their material? Who depends on me but a team of marketing strategists for their research? The doctors carved up my knee to learn how to do the operation for those who followed me, but the experiment on my brain continues. It never ends. It won't end until I end. Christ, I hope I haven't phrased this thought in too amusing a fashion. It's not a joke.
  
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© 2022. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

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