Here you have it. The first ever Special Guest Column of the Fortnight. This fortnight's winner is Allen Thome, a strapping young lad who I go to school with and who shares many of my views. He can be contacted at allen_is_god@yahoo.com if you feel the need. And yes kids, he really is god.

Cell Phones: A Vehicle For Stupidity

            Just once I’d like to go to school, or the movies, or out to eat, and not have these drones gabbing on their cell phones.  I’m at work the other day, for those of you who don’t know I work at a sandwich place named Cousins, found all over the Midwest, taking some order for some dumb bitch.  Some lady who thinks she’s king shit because she’s 44 and wears an inch thick of makeup in order to look 37, you know the kind, comes up to the register.  I hate taking orders because people are stupid, and this ugly hag in a belly shirt wasn’t helping matters.  I see her rolls of flab falling out of her jeans and shirt, spilling over everything, and I begin to feel nauseous.  Just before she gives me her order, I hear the gay ring tone that you hear in those force fed bullshit Nokia commercials.  Her conversation goes something like this:

  “Hello?  Oh hi, Kim!”

Pause

“I’m getting dinner.”

Pause

“How did that happen?”

Pause

“Are you going to the doctor?”

Pause

“It’s infected?  Oh man, you may need to see the gynecologist or something, I don’t know what to tell you.”

At this point my stomach is lurching, I may hurl soon.

Pause

“Well you really should”

Long pause, I’m really getting pissed off.

“Okay, call me back.  Bye.”

She still doesn’t get off of the fucking phone.

“Really?  Did they like it?”

Like what, their orgy?  Now she is trying to order, while talking on the phone.

      At this point I am no longer paying attention.  I will never be able to eat again.  This bitch the whole time was acting like me taking her fucking order is somehow interfering with her oh so important friend’s “infection” of some body part, which would necessitate a gynecologist.  Wow, you have a slutty friend named Kim.  Congratulations, now keep on wasting my time with your phone call that could have waited until you got your fat, worthless, ass home.  Why is it necessary for these dipshits to talk on the phone EVERYWHERE they go?  Remember the time before cell phones?  People survived (despite my efforts).  It’s a disease.  I’d rather have a prison inmate anally inject me with SARS using a baseball bat than put up with one more loudmouth who HAS to have a 20 minute conversation in the middle of a movie theater.

      Cell phones, when used privately and sparsely, are a relatively good idea.  But these people push my self restraint to the max with their stupid fucking ring tones of Tchaikovsky or Kid Rock, and their rainbow faceplates with the words “2 HOTT 4 U” scribed across them.  I see these retards in school every day, thinking they’re cool because their display is backlit so they can see the screen when mommy calls telling them to come home for their enema.  Really, I’m not impressed.  I revel in human pain, so don’t think you can cross me with this bullshit about how you can live the social life of you’re dreams because you have a cell phone and a QT PIE license plate on your Civic.