Wizzy 

Wizzy’s Wackyweed.....HELL ON WHEELS

Ya know when I ask a writer to do a ramble for me I never know what I will get....I’ve gotten two rambles from two damn good writers and they have done killed me with humor! So without futher-a-doooo here is the first one.... take it away DJ!!!!

Okay, gang...Wizzy has kindly asked me to do a “Ramble”, so here goes...

In a chat with T. Stratton, we got on the subject of cellular phones. Thanks for the “Ramble” idea, T. Cell phones. Ooh, push my buttons. That’s one of ‘em.

A plague of locusts? Peanuts. Cell phones? Now that’s a story. How did they come about, anyway? Human ingenuity? Naaah. Commie plot? Nope. Vast right-wing conspiracy? Uh-uh. Aliens. That’s it. Aliens. I’m not paranoid; I know they’re out to get me. You see, paranoid is when you think they’re out to get you. I know they’re out to get me. No thinking about it. I know it.

Now, you’re probably thinking, DJ’s got a real problem here. How’d the goof-ball get from cell phones to paranoia in two strokes? Hey, it’s a gift. What can I say? No, actually, cell phones are the aliens’ plot to take over the world. Here’s how it works:

Humans love toys. We all have ours, right? Kids, grownups, everybody has a toy or two stashed somewhere. (All right, girls, enough giggling. I’m not talking about what’s in your bedside drawer.) Now, up in the ‘mother-ship’, watching Earthlings go about their daily lives, Oog and Ugh notice this and decide that some distraction is needed to take the humans’ minds off what’s going on around them before they invade Earth. So, they introduce cell phones.

Neat little things, aren’t they? The ultimate toy. You can talk to whomever from wherever. Mostly, the conversations go something like this: “Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? What? You’re breaking up! Hello? Damn thing...! Sixty friggin’ bucks a month for this???” (Sound of cell phone being hurled through sheet rock from across the room). Okay, there goes the ol’ blood pressure, am I right? So, you stomp off to the phone kiosk in the local mall and say you want out of your contract because you can never finish a conversation, and the guy says, “Ho, hum.

So our service sucks. Still cost you a hundred and fifty dollars to get out of your contract.” Blasted fine print. The aliens are laughing their little green butts off now, counting their money and watching hordes of humans go apoplectic at that news. Phase one is a total success. Oh, yeah. The humans are definitely distracted. They are tiring of their new toy, though, so it’s time for phase two.

Oog: What do we do now?

Ugh: Time for an upgrade. Look at this little beauty. Plays cutsie little songs and takes pictures!

Oog: Oh, yeah! Let’s get ‘em out there and watch the fun!

Okay, so now they have distributed the new models, and everybody is getting one. Cutsie tunes are wafting through work, at the grocery store, in the airport, in college classrooms, everywhere. The William Tell Overture, Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, Pachelbel’s Canon (no, not the ‘Taco-bell’ Canon), our timeless great melodies are reduced to emotionless bleeps. Aagh!!! The worst of all is that tune It’s a Small World, After All. It took me three days to get that damned song out of my head after my last trip to Disney World. I’d rather have heard the voices, but they were on vacation, too.

Here’s an idea: how’s about one that issues disgusting body noises for a signal, or a hair-raising scream a la Alfred Hitchcock? Now you’re talking. Or how’s about a good ‘Bronx cheer’? (For those of you who don’t know what a ‘Bronx cheer’ is, close your lips gently, extend your tongue out, and blow hard. That’s a ‘Bronx cheer’. Okay, so how many of you actually did that?) I’d also love to hear one play a timeless classic that everyone can recognize from their high school (burp) days: “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall”. Oh, yes. That’s sure to impress your boss when your phone goes off in a meeting. Or the priest, when you’re in the confessional. Or your date. Or the group at one’s local AA meeting.

Now we get to the fun part. No, not the ‘vibrate’ mode, you perverts. I’m talking about the ability to take pictures with ‘em and send ‘em to somebody. Oh, yeah. Now, knowing human nature as you do, and as Oog and Ugh do, what do you think was the first thing that somebody sent their friend as a picture, when they got one of these new phones? You’re probably right if you guessed that it was an astronomy lesson. Yup, the full moon. No, I’m not referring here to the satellite planet which orbits Earth...I’m referring to... you guessed it. The...full...moon. Somebody’s shiny white butt. I can hear the conversation now.

“Har, har, har. Ol’ Suzy, she’s a laugh riot. Lookit what she sent me. This beats the Xerox machine at the office Christmas party all to heck, doesn’t it? Hey, is that really her? Hm. Guess she really is a blonde.”

Which is a really funny joke, I guess, unless the recipient of Suzy’s picture is currently at happy hour in the local watering hole, and shows the picture to everybody in the bar. Then, the joke’s on Suzy, isn’t it?

Or, unless.....your current lover is standing right next to you and says, “Sure, it’s Suzy, honey. I’d recognize that birthmark anywhere. I mean...Oops! (Embarrassed blush.) Hehehe.....Ah, um, I just mean I saw her once at the beach. Sure, that’s what I mean.” Yeah, right. Then, the joke’s on you.

Now, phase three: we learned that we could use them and try to drive at the same time. Hoo, boy. Try is right. The first time one attempts that, they usually take out a row of bushes, a street sign, a ‘shopping cart lady’ and a jogger. Perhaps it’s just Oog and Ugh’s planet beautification project before they invade. Who knows?

Watch out. It’s a nefarious plot. They’re everywhere. I was stopped at a traffic light today, and noticed a ten year old boy ride his bicycle across the road in front of me. He had...you guessed it...a cell phone on his hip. Kids have ‘em. Heck, I don’t have one. Kids do, though. They’re proliferating. (The phones, I mean, not the kids. The kids aren’t proliferating because their parents are too busy talking on their cell phones.) See what I mean? Aliens. It’s working. See? See? See? (Hang on a moment... I need to take my medication.)

And how about using them in public? Well, where else will we use ‘em? I don’t want to hear the loud, obnoxious jerk next to me harass his office underlings from the next restaurant table, though. Talk about sharing your bad vibes with everybody. That’s when one has the urge to lean over, smack him on the back of the head and say, “Hey, I don’t work for you, so shaddup!” Oog and Ugh, have mercy on me! I surrender Earth to you. The planet is yours. Just take all the phones back. Pleeeeease?

I was sitting in a stall in a public restroom once, when the person in the next stall started asking me questions. So, to be friendly and polite, I began answering them. We had a great conversation until I hear the voice in the next stall say, “I’ll call you back later. Somebody in the next stall won’t stop talking to me.” Oh, Jeez. Talk about mortified. I snuck out quietly, a long streamer of toilet paper trailing behind me to mark my trail.

We were warned, though. We should have listened. Gene Roddenberry saw this coming back in the TV Star Trek days, when he concocted those little communicator thingys. They flip open just like a cell phone, don’t they? See? He tried to tell us this would happen, from the first time that Captain Kirk and the landing party beamed down to the surface of the planet Valium IV. The intrepid captain flipped open his cell phone, er, communicator, and announced (imagine William Shatner over-acting here): “Very funny, Scotty. Now, BEAM DOWN MY CLOTHES!!”

Look out for the little green guys! They’re coming for you!

Later, dear friends,
D.J. Belt   dbelt@mindspring.com

Don’t forget to stop an shop DJ Belt's web page! And a side note to you DJ my dear friend, thank for sharing the laughter with all of us! Wizzy

Later taters,

Wizzy