The Bears losing the Super Bowl yesterday made me horribly depressed. I got a little cell phone happy too, as these statistics would indicate:
I called 3 ex-girlfriends and one ex-wife.
I then called my sister's husband and told him what a shit I think he is. His latest and greatest move was to bring his kids to his homewrecking girlfriend's house only a month or two into being separated, because that won't fuck with the kids' heads, right? I'm fuzzy on what exactly I said on his voicemail, but I remember saying, "I think you're a shit."
Now, if the Chicago Bears could have got as many first downs as I made dumb phone calls, we would be having a victory parade on Michigan Avenue tomorrow.
The guilt I had about this series of ill-advised calls inspired me to come up with the following brilliant idea: A cell phone that operates like those court ordered cars, so it won't work unless you blow an alcohol free breath into it.
What do you, my seven readers, think about this notion?