Sunday, February 19, 2012

Just start making out with your phone, already. You know you want to.

This....this is just...sad.

Here we have a lonely, pathetic jackass with a lot of questions and no humans willing to be seen with him to ask for information. So he must spend his days bleating these questions into his best friend. Since this is the year 2012, it's not surprising that his Best Friend is his I Phone.

"How do I play 'London Calling?'" (Quick tip: Just...don't.) "Show me a G chord. Tell these two girls that our band is playing in the garage (where else?) tonight. Wipe my nose and change my diaper." (Ok, I made up those last two, but would it come as any shock if those were actually his next lines?)

"I need a guitar." Hmmm...let's review what we've learned about this kid so far: He does not have a guitar. He does not know how to play a guitar. He is incapable of actually calling people to arrange meetings. He knows two girls willing to meet him in his garage, and he already has a band. Maybe the continuity got left on the cutting room floor. No, I Phone, this is NOT a request for the director's cut.

This advertisement isn't funny or informative, and it doesn't show us how the I Phone could make our lives worth living. What it DOES demonstrate is how the I Phone can spare us from ever talking to another carbon-based life form, ever again, by adopting a virtual voice that asks "how high" whenever we bleat "jump" and never, ever questions our bizarre helplessness when faced with any task, no matter how commonplace and mundane.

And it concludes with this stupid, helpless kid pathetically requesting that his phone refer to its owner as "Rock God." Because those girls sure aren't about to. Wouldn't it be great if the phone bleated back "sorry, but even I have limits, Loser?"

Considering that phones are being marketed as best (only?) friends and personal assistants these days, I think we all know what the logical next step in the owner-phone relationship is, don't we? No, I don't want to picture it in advance, either.


  1. The question that plagued me was why does a high school kid need something like this? He can text his friends between classes and Google all that stuff a) on the bells-and-whistles-loaded phone he had before begging and whining for his parents to get him The Latest Toy and/or b) his loaded-with-the-latest computer at home he begged and harassed his parents with whining into getting for him. He could even *gasphorror* go totally low-tech and drop a paper note in his friends' lockers (you know, like we did back in the cave-dwelling days), ask people where to buy a good guitar, and talk to one of the music teachers about chords and where to get lessons.

    The cacophony coming out of the garage made one thing very clear: the only place that kid will ever be a rock god is in his own mind.

    Pleasepleaseplease shred that stupid Verizon commercial where the guy is supposed to be wrestling/subduing a crocodile. It is. So. Incredibly. Stupid.

  2. "I gotta get a guitar!"
    "Here are some places that you can get a job to pay for one."

    "Add Migraine Headache to our list of band names."
    "That is a good addition, since that is what people will have after hearing you play."

    "Tell Julie and Kate that our band is playing at the garage tonight."
    "You really want the neighbors to lose the last shred of tolerance for your family, don't you?"

    "Call me Rock God."
    "No. Now go do your homework."

  3. Awesome. Just Awesome. Where are SNL's skit writers when you need them?

    My guess: Afraid to tick off the sponsors.