Usually I can find ways to avoid Mac users in my day to day life. Not anymore. Soon, everybody who owns a cellphone is going to be a Mac user, thanks to Apple's latest "innovation", the iPhone. And just like its portable audio predecessor, the iPod, I predict that people will be rendered incapable of referring to the device in generic terms. I promise you, I'm going to fly-kick the first person who tells me they're going to whip out their iPhone and give me an iCall.

Editor's note: I haven't read Shamus's review because I don't own a cellphone and I never will. I just needed someplace to leave myself a reminder of some shit I need to do tomorrow before work. Please ignore this note: Don't forget to clean up the trash in the garage and pick up something that will kill the raccoon that's been tearing it up, but will leave your wife's cats alive if they get into it. Also, buy some gloves so you can pick up its body when it dies. That way, you don't get raccoon death on your fingers.

 
Imagine the humiliation that guy must have felt
when he realized that they hired him for that commercial
because his appearance represents everything that
Americans don't want to be.

Every time I watch one of those ads with the guy from Die Hard 4 telling me how easy and user-friendly his computers are to use, I thank God that he granted me the gift of intelligence so that I don't need to use Apple products to keep up in life. That's not to say that I'd describe myself as a "PC guy", either. It's just that Apple seems to market its products exclusively to people with a much lower than average IQ, and I wouldn't feel any pride in bragging to people that I prefer Mac. It feels like it would be admitting defeat. "I don't know what a hard drive is or how files work or how to double-click things, and the last time I got an error message I poured bleach into my CPU, and that's why I use a Mac!" I feel as though I'd be like the chubby, quiet kid with the Neanderthal brow in elementary school who got held back a grade for repeatedly cutting himself with the grown-up scissors, so now he has to use the big purple plastic safety scissors. And then Justin Long saunters in with his smart-casual attire and mild I-swear-I-won't-fuck-your-daughter expression, and announces smugly that that kid is the coolest kid in the class because he uses iShears.

No, Justin. He's an asterisk on page three of the theory of evolution. Those scissors represent nothing but his monumental, catastrophic failure as a human being - a mistake that nature is sure to not make again. While most people have the ability to evolve and adapt to new situations with intuition and determination, the greatest challenges this kid will ever be able to overcome are struggling not to piss himself in his chair, and periodically forgetting how to breathe. It's not that he chose simplicity, it's that he can't grasp complexity.

Editor's note: Make some signs that taunt the raccoon so that when he dies, you can take pictures of yourself with the signs and his dead body. Don't let Carrie see the pictures because she thinks raccoons are cute, and she won't let you touch her boobs if she knows you killed it and then taunted the carcass. Try to work the words "cunt" and "moonpie" into one of the signs.

 
Google Image result for the phrase "safety scissors."

"But, Shamus, what's the problem? Why not just let the damn kid sit in the back of the class and eat glue and fantasize about fire?" It comes back to the iPhone. I tell you what, if retards were cock, then the iPhone would be Paris Hilton. I can kind of almost justify people lining up outside shopping centers at three in the morning to get first dibs on a Playstation console or a special edition Star Wars DVD that features a twenty minute deleted scene of Jar Jar Binks masturbating. Almost. But a goddamn cellphone? Over the last week I've watched in abject horror as the United States collapsed into iPhone hysteria. I heard about that one lady who managed to save up a hundred grand and tried to spend it all on iPhones, and it made me want to grab a flame-thrower and correct Mother Nature's mistake for her - save her the trouble of having to explain to God, "I'm so sorry. Yeah, I was drinking a little while at work, but I wasn't drunk. I mean, if I would have known that was going to happen..."

We're not talking about some incredible leap in technology, here, like artificial intelligence or time travel or a working vending machine. It's a cellphone with a touch screen. Ooh, wow. And it can play MP3s and connect to super-fast streaming internet, too. That's great, guys. Can it make a fucking telephone call, though? I can instantly log into the Google Maps network to locate my friend's house halfway across the city and view him on live streaming satellite webcam in photorealistic four billion gigapixel quality in less than a nanosecond, but can I order a fucking cab to take me there, Apple? Did you happen to leave room for that particular feature in between the Tesla coil and the flux capacitor?

 
Flux capacitor.

I own a cellphone. It's a five-year-old cinderblock with a cracked case and most of the shiny paintwork scratched off. It does have a color screen, but realize these were the days when color was a huge fucking deal, and most people were still walking around with LCD screens. It can't record video, it can't play MP3s, and it can't download porn, but if I need to make a freaking telephone call I know where to reach. I don't need to put it back on the charger every two hours because it doesn't need a cold fusion reaction to power it. In fact, it's so simple that it's well nigh indestructible. I've dropped it, kicked it, and stepped on it more times than I could count. I've spilled soft drink on it. One time I dropped it in the rain and it landed in a deep puddle and broke into pieces; I spent fifteen minutes searching for the battery and sim-card. In 2004, a Catholic robot thought it was a wafer and ate it. When he shat it out two days later, there was a voice mail to me from my own phone, saying simply, "Whatever." You just can't hurt this thing.

Editor's note: Buy some razors so you can shave a mohawk onto the full length of its body. If possible, don't kill the raccoon, but capture it in some sort of trap. Then, shave the mohawk onto it and set it free so that all the other raccoons think it's stupid and will make fun of it. If it's male, tattoo "I fuck dudes" on its side. If it's female, just leave it alone because it should already be ashamed of its gender.

I'm all for the advancement of technology, but come on. The problem is that when you start packing hi-tech equipment into these tard-magnets, hard drives and stereo-quality speakers and more pixels-per-inch than actual reality has, then you create something much more fragile than is even practical. I've owned four MP3 players in four years – the first was in my pocket when I bumped it against a wall and it stopped working. The second, I dropped. The third was ultimately stolen, but by that time, the volume controls didn't work because I sneezed while listening to it, and the buttons flew off. These are just portable audio machines that don't have video cameras and modems installed, and already they flirt with the boundaries of practicality. And now we have this thing that purports to be able to do pretty much everything short of giving you a blowjob. What's going to happen when we drop that?

 
This phone was simply looked at in anger,
and it exploded. Five people were injured.

How long is that trendy touch-screen actually going to work like it's supposed to? Has it actually dawned on anybody that Apple is much, much better at marketing its products than it actually is at making products, considering that the word ‘iPod' has become synonymous with the actual MP3 player concept, and yet of all the devices in its field, the iPod is the most notorious for randomly falling apart? These machines don't come with a warranty longer than a year, and the chances are still pretty good that you'll wind up cashing it in before it expires.

Editor's note: Find out how to tell the difference between a male and female raccoon. Do the males have prominent balls? That would make it much easier. Call mom tomorrow and ask her if she knows anything about raccoon cock size. If she says "no," blame her for ruining your life as a child and hang up while crying. If she says "yes," call her a slut and hang up while sounding disappointed. Remember: do NOT go to the library and ask for a book on animal genitalia. They'll remember who you are and ban you again.

On a personal side-note, could someone please tell me what the "i" stands for? I'm serious, does anybody actually know? I can't help but feel disturbed when something enters the lexicon by way of an advertising campaign, even though it seems that nobody has actually bothered to attach a meaning to it. In the ads, Justin Long calmly and smugly explains to the PC guy that “the iMac comes with iWeb, iTunes, iPhoto… it's all part of iLife.” What? Is anybody else dismayed by the fact that he just rattled off a sentence containing five nouns that are total, absolute, absurdist, counter-communicative, choking-on-dick nonsense? It feels like I'm living in a Dr Seuss book. “Well, Sam-I-Am, the iMac comes with an astute Whizdoodle jTurkey mechanism that's just fragnaficent!”

 
Will be dead soon.

As if you couldn't tell, I've had a long week, and I'm getting a little irritable. I'm going to go out and blow off some steam. Maybe join an iGang, pick some iCabbage, get iTrashed, and iVomit on some fat bitch's iAss.

Editor's note: Carrie's birthday is coming up. Find out how to make a hat out of a raccoon. If possible, leave enough to make matching handbag or shoes.

If you liked this article, you can find more funny stuff from Shamus at his website. Be sure to check out his videos while you're there because they're the stuff of genius. My favorite is the cooking video.

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