In life there are so many variables, things that you can never truly rely on, like the weather or public transport or the effect that Mexican food is going to have on your bowel movements. So it’s nice to have something that you can always have faith in, something to assuage the capricious nature of life, something that will never let you down or make you shart.
Something like a smartphone.
To be honest with you, I don’t know where I’d be without my iPhone. The chances are I’d be lost though, wandering the streets aimlessly, trying to find something without the aid of Google Maps. I mean, how the f**k did people get anywhere before Google Maps? I can’t think about the ‘80s or ‘90s without envisioning some kind of pre-digital dystopia, a wasteland of lost souls drifting listlessly up and down the wrong street, endlessly winding down car windows and asking for directions.
That’s why my phone is always by my side (that and the fact I keep it in my pocket). I need my phone. I rely on my phone. I can’t live, if living is without phone. In 1999 Welsh indy band The Super Fury Animals recorded a song called ‘Wherever I Lay My Phone (That’s My Home)’. Well, I’d go one step further and say that mobile phones are our homes these days – without them we’d be hopelessly adrift of the Digital Age.
That’s why getting a phone call or a text from a wrong number feels a lot like home invasion. And over the past few weeks I’ve been ram-raided on a daily basis.
It’s all because my network supplier, Verizon, gave me a number that was so recently disconnected that the previous owner didn’t have time, or couldn’t be arsed, to update his contact information. So I’ve been constantly receiving calls and messages intended for someone named Kyle. Mostly my response to these consists of me telling callers I’m not Kyle and please tell Kyle that he should tell everyone that he has a new number because I’m not being paid to be Kyle’s personal assistant now am I? Usually they just hang up, which is quite rude and tells you something about the calibre of Kyle’s associates.
But sometimes, when I’m bored, I strike up conversations with these people who think I’m Kyle. Would you like to read some?
I thought you might.
I'm the green bubbles
Here's a conversation I had with someone slightly more aggresive than Storm.
And finally, this nugget. Cheers Kyle (you f*****g s**tcock).
livin' in 'merica 