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Thursday, January 27, 2011

I Like Buttons

I go through phones and cars like a corporate businessman goes through Taiwanese prostitutes. That is to say: a lot in a very short period of time. And anally. In case you were... wondering.

Right now, as a telephonic device, I am utilizing my father's four-year-old Motorola Q. It is a rather large, rectangular object, and it has an auxiliary battery, which makes it weigh approximately thirty-eight pounds. I like it because it has a full QWERTY keyboard. Though the Q sticks, so it's more like a WERTY keyboard (I know-- so clever, right?) and, since the exclamation point is on the same key as the Q, writing exclamatory statements is challenging, because, in order for the q or the Q or the exlcamation point to show up in a text message, you really have to lay into that key like a corporate businessman lays into a Taiwanese prostitute.

You know-- anally.

In any event, somehow the AT&T uberlords have decreed that I am eligible for an upgrade on March 1, 2011. I am supremely soaked with sexcitement.

Even if the Q (and now the A) key wasn't sticking, I'm just a restless kind of guy when it comes to phones and cars. I can't stay nailed down (although my wife swears that, if I ever try to get rid of the Volvo, she will get behind the wheel and run over my neck with it-- which, in a way, is fair) to one device. I will say, the daunting nature of switching cellphones-- learning where all the new icons and doodads are-- not to mention recording all of the Gilbert & Sullivan ring-tones from my stereo (I have eighteen individually assigned G&S ringtones for really special people on my contact list, and the default ring is the overture to "H.M.S. Pinafore." Go ahead, call me gay in the comment section. I don't care) is something that I have to painstakingly redo every time I get a new phone because the recorded audio files never seem to transfer over, even though they're probably somewhere in the ether of my SIM card.

That won't stop me. I love getting a new phone.

Because I'm sick.

Because this world is sick.

Because they're always coming out with supercool shit that they make us horny for.

I love toys.

Give me toys.


Don't give me an iPhone.

I don't want it.

I don't want a Droid.

I don't want a Samsung Solstice.

I don't want any touchy, scrolly thing.


And men love buttons.


We love pressing. We love the tactility. We love bumpy, round things.

Getting sexual for anyone else around here? I've got to tell you, I'm getting silly in the trousers.

I know. You didn't need to know that. Well, you know. Deal.

Buttons are like little, methodically arranged booblettes. Little nubbly nipply nobbly things. I can't get enough of them. If, one day, they make cell phones that are touch-screen only-- well, I'm just going to have to keep buying old ones. Because I loves me my buttons.

We could really get all psychosexual here, but I think it's enough to say HOORAY FOR BUTTONS and call it a day.

And, speaking of calling-- I wonder what G&S tune will play the next time you call me!

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