The Spud-U-Like Mediocre 5000

 

I have finally decided to fully embrace the digital age by purchasing a smart phone – the Spud-U-Like Mediocre 5000 to be precise. Previously, I’ve had to rely on typewriters and pigeons – with a nagging wife in the place of preset alarm messages and a lute instead of the latest entertainment apps.  I have thus avoided the HB/NW horror that is a mobile ‘phone –  I mean, who wants a constant reminder that no-one will ever call you ?

Not for me the intoxicating dingaling of yet another rabid fan who has managed to grab my number.  Not for me the electrifying buzz of a mobile on silent during a pitch meeting, waiting to inform me that I’m being headhunted by the BBC.  No!  Just a brick in my pocket that never needs to be put on vibrate anyway – not even on Orange Wednesdays at the flicks – because no-one ever rings the bloody thing.

So why choose to buy one all of a sudden ?

It’s a long, convoluted but nevertheless entertaining story…

I have a friend who occasionally wears a Producer’s hat… and as you know, I love hats. I always get a little thrill when my mate tells me that he’s ‘putting on his producer’s hat for a moment’  – as there’s a teeny chance that further discussion will involve glorious me and my sweaty attempts to fondle fame.  For a brief spell, there’s hope that I’ll become more than mere creative scum that clings to the side of the bath of showbusiness – something greater than mere detritus, staining the porcelain of society’s lavatory…  In short, my pal in a producer’s hat makes me feel like a potentially living, breathing contributor…

This is all well and good, but when one receives an e-mail from a friend like this, saying simply “I take it that’s a no then ?”, it tends to make one spiral into panic.  This was the message that I read on my spam swamped e-mail account a few weeks ago – making me ever so slightly sick in my own mouth.  A no to WHAT ?!?!?!  Somewhere, I must have missed an e-mailed offer of a leg up and, not only had I flown nose first into yet another near miss with a fameoplane, but I had also no doubt offended my friend by ignoring his e-mails.

Damn all that electronic junk mail – it must have wrapped itself around my friend’s original missive, creating a giant spam sandwich with my mate’s mail squished unnoticed in its middle.

As you may have gathered, I like to think I’m a creative person – so much so that I have only the bare minimum grasp on the practicalities of real life. As such, I have very little clue or interest in working out how to set up a spam filter, so my e-mail account has suffered from advertising overload for the past decade.  This means that important messages get lost in a haze of words asking me whether or not I would like to enhance my genitals, or buy something else from Amazon, or enhance my genitals, or grab a quick look at ebay, or enhance my genitals.  (I almost entitled this article ‘Penis Enlargement Ruined my Career Chances… Again’, but I thought it might sound too saucy for googlers who might chance upon it.)   It comes as no surprise then, that an e-mail headed ‘Golden Opportunity to dig your way out of the brown bum-bread’ – emboldened with one of those little exclamation marks to denote something of high importance – would get scrolled out of view by strangers wishing to make my willy just a tad bigger.

I finally found my friend’s initial message, which included an incredibly kind offer of collaboration on something nice and creative – with any subsequent ideas ‘bigged up, producer stylee’ during a series of pitch meetings about to take place.  Having sent a hurried, apologetic e-mail to my chum, and having also publically flogged myself on Faecebook for the benefit of anyone who may also have been trying to contact me via e-mail for ten years, I discovered that the closing date for this particular round of pitches had now flown by…

‘Oops’ doesn’t quite cover it…

So I’ve now invested in a cheap mobile ‘phone with all the trimmings that the most frugal monthly package will allow.  I am now available and contactable should any situation like this occur again. I’m hoping that my new mobile e-mail account – designed to squirt infodribble into the palm of my hand faster than a drunk, oversexed teenager could shoot man yoghurt into his – will enable me to keep in touch with important stuff …

…until, that is, the world’s leading internet supplier of willy pumps gets wind of my new e-mail address…

I’ll give it a week!

 

 

© Nova Amiko and The Has Been Who Never Was 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nova Amiko and The Has Been Who Never Was with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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