I was jogging on the beach listening to my iPod with bluetooth earbuds crammed in my head holes. They only jarred loose and fell out every few steps so it wasn’t that bad.
What a magnificent experience. Truly technology was a great thing.
Suddenly my workout was interrupted by the outside world utilizing the direct access to my brain I had so thoughtfully provided.
Beep. Beep. Bzzt.
“Siri,” I panted. “What was that?”
“A text message from Uncle Shran,” she replied saucily using the slutty voice pack I had purchased on iTunes for only $29.99.
I was such an accomplished long distance runner I never broke stride. I had my second wind and didn’t want to stop.
“Read message, please,” I gasped.
“Sure thing, Tom. The message says, ‘Where the hell are you? I’m waiting by the truck.’ Would you like to send a response?”
I pondered as I ran a few more miles.
“Yes, Siri,” I finally gargled. “Please tell Uncle Shran to go to hell.”
“Message sent, Tom. Would you like to hear your most favorited tweet of the day?”
“Sure, why not?”
“I’m sorry, Tom. None found.”
“Go to hell, Siri.”
Oh wait. I almost forgot. Siri doesn’t do any of that. Bummer. I had to stop running, pull the device out of my pocket, try to view the screen in the glinting sun, and do all the damn work myself. I was so devastated that I walked back to my car, drove to the nearest McDonald’s and ate three Big Macs. Thanks a lot for the weight gain, Siri.
“You’re welcome, Tom.”
I don’t have Siri, but my talking phone would have sent the text to Uncle Sam instead, since it doesn’t recognize my saucy sexy voice very well.
Ask not what you can text to your country.
LOL! I can’t do Siri. I’m already a couple screws loose, why entice the gods? Of course, i suppose there are some advantages to keeping the old girl around. Maybe i can trick her into playing poker with her money?
She’s not that useful. She’s not even qualified to valet at Downton Abbey.
LikeLiked by 1 person