Fool Me Twice

It is no secret that I have unlimited potential to be the world's biggest idiot. It is also no secret that through my history of cell phone usage (which you would know about if you were part of the faithful), I have not been a man of ringtones. Why? They're loud and embarrassing. No one ever have a universally sweet ringtone. No one. Your "Big Pimpin'" ringtone was not cool, and neither was your friend's "More Than a Feeling" ringtone, either. Seriously. It's not happening.

Why I pulled a Garden of Eden-league gaffe and decided to get ringtones in late November was really an out-of-body experience, and completely beyond my own comprehension. I suppose I was suckered into it the same way Eve was, thinking it was an unbeatable deal, only to be caught with my pants down, or not even on at all.

For this one, let's engage those familiar time travel ripples...

Back in October I picked my sister up from school to take her home for her fall break, and I noticed that practically every text message she received was a different song of some sort, and not in lame-ass MIDI jobs people acquire that were composed by mustachioed gigolos from the southwest at their day jobs, but legitimate, MP3-quality ringtones. I was, to say the least, or maybe the most, enchanted by such devilish sounds as we sped down Route 460. Perhaps it was my delirious state, induced by the endless, unchanging road ahead, but the more text messages she got, the more I considered inquiring about her means of acquisition. My mind was like that arcade game where you continually place quarters upon quarters on a continually moving precipice, in hopes of getting even more quarters. Each ringtone was another quarter, stacking upon previous quarters, bracing for the singular moment of impact.

I asked.

I was informed that a website exists, which I will not name for fear of the same fate befalling you, faithful reader, that provides any interested party with unlimited high-quality ringtones for the mere exchange of a cell phone number in order to receive a randomly generated PIN to log into the site. Simple enough. But how had my sister acquired such a dearth of ringtones without our mother becoming suspicious, or even enraged when reviewing a meteoric rise in my sister's bill, which was completely plausible, at least I believed it to be so.

I asked.

She insisted they were free, and that no parental parties were the wiser regarding her questionable activity. I let the debilitating power of the drive home enfold me and pushed the topic of conversation in another direction, putting free ringtones on the back burner for several weeks.

Engaging more time travel ripples...

Having forgotten several of the particulars behind our past conversation, I contacted my sister about the previously mentioned ringtones. You might even say...

I asked.

Informed again about the website and the required hoops, I channeled a circus menagerie and leaped through some flaming hoops, balanced a couple of balls on my nose, and tried to bite a man waving a stool at me. Then my phone vibrated. It was a PIN number, the key to the portal. I felt like Rick Moranis' Louis Tully, having just gazed upon the demon-possessed Sigourney Weaver's Dana Barrett. Goooooooozerrrrrrrrrrr.

I entered the PIN in and an Internet jukebox was at my fingertips. Naturally I wasn't about to make a dash for "Ayo Technology" or "1985," but I did initiate a few queries for some choice cuts. I don't particularly know if I want to name-check them over the Internet, for fear of backlash, fallout, or outright name-calling from any party that has the gumption to do so. That being said, I'll abstain. I did decide to pick out three different songs as potential ringtones and downloaded them to my phone with all deliberate speed. More rapid than eagles, those ringtones they came, and quite quickly I was the recipient of a triumvirate of fresh ringtones.

Unfortunately, things never really worked out with those ringtones and I. More often than not, I had to keep my phone on vibrate, and when it went off in meetings and I had forgotten to set it to stun, it was embarrassing, or when I went out and forgot to set it to stun, I could never hear it ring. You can imagine the predicaments it caused. The ringtones left as quickly as they came, in late November.

Engage those time travel ripples once again...

While visiting home for Christmas, my parents gave me a temporary admission to their gym. On the way home from it one day, I wanted to know if I had any messages on my phone.

I asked.

My sister told me I had a message from my phone from Verizon, telling me my bill was ready online, which was to be expected. I had her read it out loud to me.

How strange is it to quote President Bush here?

"Shock and awe."

She read the figure to me, and it was thirty more dollars than I expected. I was incensed and also somewhat curious. What caused this spike? Following getting locked inside the dry cleaner's, I fired up the old computer at home and sent off to discover what the dillio was all about. What is the dillio all about anyway? What is the dillio in the first place? Spell check sure doesn't like it.

It turns out I was charged ten dollars apiece for each ringtone I downloaded.

Ten dollars. Thirty dollars for those of you playing the home game. So I got shafted by the Internet, and my sister was flabbergasted that I would let myself be had in such a manner. God damn it all.

Engage those time travel ripples for the last time...

A couple months had passed since I downloaded those ringtones to my phone, but I would be haunted by such a hasty decision, in a way that I have not previously mentioned. On an irregular but frequent basis, I received text messages from five digit numbers giving me the latest...(dramatic pause or whatever)...

Hip hop news.

Don't believe me? I'll read the most recent one I received:

"Regarding the steroid allegation drama in her life, Mary J. told MTV, "I have nothing to prove to anyone. I am Mary and that's that." Word!

Yes, America. These things exist. I got multiple ones each day, and including one that basically reminded me that work was over every weekday. They were good for a few laughs, to be sure. I learned that Eminem got fat and Diddy was changing his name to Sean John, though I always knew him as Biggie's Really Crappy Shadow. I was reminded about Yung Joc's gun troubles and Lil' Wayne getting stopped in the airport for trafficking drugs. If nothing else, it made me look really popular since my phone kept blowing up like Chinese New Year day in and day out.

It was all fun and games until Verizon came calling once again with my monthly bill, and again it included a thirty dollar overage.

Damnation. I was suckered by the Internet, a mere series of tubes! This would be as good of a time as any to write the word "fuck." Right.

Shuddering, I picked up my phone and dialed Verizon. There had to been a way to end this extortion, this bilking, this out and out madness.

I asked.

I can't remember if that was before or after I almost crushed my phone in pure ecstasy because the woman on the other end spoke clear English. I felt sorry for her, really, because I kept her on the line for a ridiculous amount of time telling her my life story about these godforsaken ringtones and how I got rejected from JMU and how I ran over our exposed cable line with our lawnmower in middle school and didn't tell my mom for days and or how I never did my summer reading. She was accommodating, all in all, so I was thankful for that, and she told me she could help me end this Internet pillage-fest.

I asked.

It turns out that all I had to do was text message one word to these nefarious five-digit Soulja Boy purveyors. One word, and I'd never have to hear about Mary J. scarfing down HGH or the Shop Boyz doing well in ringtone sales or rap beefs or Snoop Dogg's kids or JUST MAKE THIS HATEFUL INTERNET ROBBERY AND TEXT MESSAGING--

One word.

Stop.