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Peeve Farm
Breeding peeves for show, not just to keep as pets
  Blog \Blôg\, n. [Jrg, fr. Jrg. "Web-log".
     See {Blogger, BlogSpot, LiveJournal}.]
     A stream-of-consciousness Web journal, containing
     links, commentary, and pointless drivel.


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Sunday, August 4, 2002
23:51 - My Goldmember Review

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I went to see Austin Powers: Goldmember tonight.

And after seeing this movie, I can safely say that I am now willing and prepared to go on a one-man personal worldwide crusade against cellphones. For you see, not one person on the face of the Earth appears to be capable of shutting off his blasted phone on the way in to the theater.

I am going to go to the entrance to each theater room at the multiplex, pat each person down as he or she enters, take any and all cellphones that they might be carrying, and put them all into a large wooden crate. Then I will fill the crate with quick-drying post-hole concrete, and then take the crate outside to the parking lot, remove the wooden crate sides, and then begin to slowly and methodically demolish the concrete block with a sledgehammer, singing "Steel Drivin' Man" and various chain-gang pick-swingin' songs like from the beginning of O Brother, Where Art Thou?.

Then I will seek out every person who has ever made a call to someone's cell phone, when the recipient of the call was in the middle of a heartfelt, involved, or otherwise valuable personal conversation with another person in real life, just so that the caller could say, in that hideous whining wheedling voice of piteous sycophancy, "What'cha dooooooooIN'?" And I will take each phone from each such caller, and I will reprogram it so that when he tries to dial any number, it will instead play back a detailed verbal description of the Persian Boat Torture-- the one that involves strapping someone naked and covered with honey onto a boat floating in the middle of a swamp full of hatching mosquitoes and flies, under the blazing sun, so that the person dies under the torment of about fifteen different horrific forms of pain that are otherwise undescribable in any kind of polite company. And just to be extra cruel, I'll put it on a randomizer so that one in ten calls, instead of the Persian Boat Torture, the caller gets a recording of William Shatner's "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" or Leonard Nimoy's "Bilbo Baggins".

And then I will seek out the people behind the cell-phone service commercials-- the Verizon "Can you hear me now?" guy, and Carrot Top, and Mr. T, and Alf, and everybody who has shilled for these bloody long-distance phone ads which can't ever seem to take the hint and get their damn selves off my TV-- and I don't care if it gets me on Seanbaby's shit list to want to do this to Mr. T, but I will hire whatever muscle I'll need to in order to subdue these people, tie them down, force-feed them asparagus, and then wait until they fall asleep and put their hands in pans of warm water so that they pee in their sleep and wake up in a miasma of smell so horrible that they die of embarrassment and revulsion, and nevermore influence anybody who is going to be at a movie that I am seeing, or in a car where I am talking to them, or in line at Taco Bell where I am planning to get food, to spend that entire time with their bloody bleeding bloody blasted billions of blistering blue bloody barnacles on a cell phone ringing at top volume with whatever kick-in-the-head-inducing ring tone they've programmed it with, over and over and over and over and over again. If they can't wait until the movie is over before they have to call their friends to ask "What'cha dooooooIN'?", then they can consider themselves duly warned of my intentions.

Oh-- the movie. It was funny.

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© Brian Tiemann