iPhunk

by Leigh Lundin

We’ve just experienced a great national celebration that has brought millions of Americans together at a critical time in our history. No, not Independence Day and not even universal disgust with Paris Hilton getting out of jail. Unless you’ve been living in a WiFi-proof cave, you know we’re talking about the release of the iPhone.

On the first day of availability, 700,000 people paid out $500, opened their shiny new gadget, fondled it intimately, and made little kissy noises to it. Approximately 699,387 of those early adopters are still trying to connect to AT&T’s digital network. Apparently, AT&T didn’t believe that 700,000 people might actually expect service on the same day of purchase.

However, the delay was merely temporary. With WiFi and computer attachments, customers were soon toying with their combination MP3 player, camera, and video viewer while texting with bin Laden about his iPhone reception in Pakistan. Within minutes, purchasers began receiving eMail, getting valuable offers for penis enlargement, shown actual size. (I would think that should worry some.)

Yesterday, I lunched with grown adults drooling over the iPhone, pinching pictures, scrolling through iTunes, watching vids of Britney Spears wearing panties, and pretty much doing everything except making phone calls. Any moment now, users will be reading this web log on their iPhone.

Apparently, an influx of 700,000 new users climbing onto the web at once caused hardly a whiffle in data delivery. Personally, I fretted that the iPhone hoopla might delay an expected reply from the Hon. Ethan J. Rollings, Esq, Ambassador from Nigeria, who requested my personal assistance moving $7,200,000 out of the Hong Sung Bank. For a mere $3200 in taxes and fees, I’m entitled to 20% of that $7.2 million. Then, I can buy my own iPhone and watch those photos of Paris Hilton get tinier, and tinier, and tinier.

cootie

Since CriminalBrief began, I have intended to thank people who helped and continue to help me as I put words to paper and turn them into stories. Without people willing to read and critique, my chances of crafting a readable tale would be greatly diminished.

Deborah is a Charleston, S.C, English Literature teacher originally from the Evansville, Indiana – Henderson, Kentucky region which does not, despite rumors, imply she is in any aspect borderline, except for a lingering fondness for Shakespeare, exhibition dancing, NCAA basketball, and me. I call her cootie, and she likes to believe it means cutie.

Deb teaches in a Charleston school for high at-risk teens. In return, her students have a fondness for this “lil ol’ white woman”, as they say. Among other mysteries, they have speculated her platinum blonde hair glows in the dark.

It does not.

I owe Deb a debt of gratitude: She critiques and error-checks and tries to keep my penchant for blatant political incorrectness from seeping into my writing. Beyond that, she was a tremendous asset in New York. Thank you, cootie.