I started reading that Stephen King book the other day, the one where the people answer their cell phones and then turn into bloodthirsty zombies. I put it down about halfway through.
It just wasn't scary enough.
You want scary? A wife talking to her sister on the cell phone while driving. Now that's scary.
A wife putting on makeup while talking on the cell phone to her girlfriend while driving on the interstate, now that's the stuff horror movies are made of.
And have you ever seen a woman send a text message while driving with one knee? I still wake up sweating and crying some nights.
After living almost my entire adult life without a cell phone, I'm now convinced that those evil cell phones are not only going to be the death of me, but they may lead to the corruption and eventual extinction of our entire civilization.
A few years ago I bought our family's first cell phone to keep in the car for emergencies in case the old rust bucket broke down. A year later, I bought the second cell phone when the wife got knocked up, in case of any water breakage I could rush home before anything stained the carpet or the sofa.
Now my cell phone has taken control of my life. I never leave home without it, even when I'm fishing. I consult it every day to see what the weather's going to be. I look at every five minutes, to see if I missed a call. I check it every ten minutes, to see what time it is (did I mention my cell phone is evil and ate my watch?)
And speaking of evil, either my cell phone has become possessed or I've become one of those Stephen King-like zombies.
A weird and mysterious female voice sometimes comes on the other end of the line and tells me when to come home from work and when to put down the fishing pole and come home to cut grass and what to pick up from the grocery store. My cell also delivers eerie, harassing text messages reminding me to take out the trash and pick up something nice for Mother's Day or don't bother coming home.
As if a normal cell phone isn't wicked enough, now they've got this thing call sexting, where people can send lewd pictures to your cell phone, whether you want them to or not. I know this because I have some perverted kinfolk.
"Don't give Cousin Bubba your cell number, whatever you do," my brother warned me one day. "He'll send you some crazy naked pictures and stuff."
Now to understand some of my kinfolk, you have to watch that movie Deliverance. The uncut version. Now imagine one of those mountain boys with phones that can send and receive pictures and emails that you can't show Momma, or anyone else for that matter.
I gave Bubba my number, just for the heck of it. I really didn't think he could operate something as complex as a camera phone.
That was six months ago. Now, about once a week I have to take my cell phone outside and disinfect with bleach and let it dry in the sun, just to get some of the filthiness out of it.
I'll be sitting in a meeting, and my phone will vibrate, and I just know that there is some form of pornography waiting in my inbox. I get all sorts of evil, wicked things, from pictures to cartoons to jokes. I don't look at them, of course. At least not during the meeting.
At night, I keep my phone locked up where the kids can't get to it, with a Bible and some Holy Water next to it. Once a week a young priest and an old priest stop by for a cellular exorcism.
I've changed my number twice, but somehow the forces of evil continue to seek out my phone.
My wife goes through my inbox at least once a day, erasing any lewd or disgusting photos my idiot relatives might have sent me. I think she's worried that my phone might fall into the wrong hands.
"What would you do if you lost your phone, and someone got a hold of it and looked through it to find who it belonged to?" she asked me one day. "What if you got in a wreck, and in the process of trying to identify your body the coroner stumbled upon those pictures in your phone?"
Great. Now, not only do I have to worry about wearing clean underwear in case I get in a wreck, I've also got to have a clean inbox.
Oh, gotta go. There's a new message coming in to my phone.
Maybe it's that strange female texting me again.
But I have a feeling its Cousin Bubba calling.