Technological Warfare
I got a call from a telemarketer the other day.
Now, I knew it was a telemarketer, because these people have called before and I have listed their number in my Contacts under a very bad word. In fact, they have called from several different numbers, and I have all those numbers listed under that same very bad word.
Like most of you, I am sure, my usual policy is to refuse to answer any number that isn’t recognizable, and if — upon checking the messages — it turns out to be telemarketers, simply list that new number under the bad word of choice and forget about it. It wasn’t like they called that often.
But this time, I thought perhaps I would answer it, and tell them I am not interested, and they would understand, and they would leave me alone, and everyone would be happy.
As I have mentioned before, I once had a job as a telemarketer. I lasted two days. I was terrible at it. I really hated calling strangers and trying to talk them into purchasing something they did not want. I felt guilty as hell for disturbing them. I could feel them wishing me dead right through the phone, and when they told me, generally not very politely, to go away, I would apologize for disturbing them and hang up with an overwhelming sense of both failure and relief. If I (in this current phone call) had been speaking to me (as my prior self) the call would have been short, polite, and settled with equanimity.
But no. I did not get former-me. I got somebody who was good at being a telemarketer. Someone who could not understand why I did not wish to clean out my bank account and send it via certified check to a company which (I Googled them) is currently being subjected to a class-action lawsuit for, and I quote: “Betrayal, Deception, Theft of Intellectual Property, Fraud, Monetary Theft, Psychological Trauma and Pain.” Someone who was, in fact, so damned annoying that they caused me to lose my temper, erupt in a volcanic spittle-spraying rage, and hang up in a fury.
Which was stupid. Because what appears to have happened is that — after the telemarketer I was cursing out finished getting high-fives from everyone in the adjoining cubicles and consuming a celebratory donut — he pushed some sort of button that put my number on the Telemarketer Hell List.
I began getting robo-calls from all sorts of companies. Day and night. I filled up the bad word contact with numbers and had to add three more just to hold all the numbers I was collecting. And even though I did not answer, they were waking me up and interrupting my work.
So I did what I had to do. I put Ellen on the case.
Ellen is my phone. She is a Galaxy Note 2, and I call her Ellen because she is so bossy. I have never met an Ellen who wasn’t bossy. (By the way, if you are reading this and you are named Ellen and you are even now in the process of writing me an indignant letter saying that you are NOT EITHER bossy and How Dare I; this is your bossiness coming through. But it is okay. You cannot help it, because your name is Ellen.)
Anyway, I asked Ellen if she could do something about these disturbing calls, and she said Sure. Anything to keep from being sprayed with spittle again. She put a block on all 47 of the numbers that had been bothering me. So now they don’t ring. They can’t leave messages. I don’t even know they were trying unless I check my Recent History list.
Ellen takes care of me, she does.
I even bought her a present — a little app that supplies her with every known telemarketer number in the known Multiverse so she can block them all.
Yeah. There you go, Ellen. Armored up.
You get ’em, girl.
— Bob out
Artist’s Notes: This is one of my favorite pages. Lots of color, drama, yelling, Max snapping on his suit- apparently some kind of modular design (don’t ask me to explain it). I had a little fun with the sound FX here; I wanted to give a sense of REALLY LOUD machinery whining in the background- and I think this sells it. -Max
The.Drama.Is.So.Thick.I.Could.Cut.It.With.A.Knife. I could *taste* it in the air. OM NOM NOM MOAR!!!!!
(Happy Monday)
Speaking of knives, as Chip mentioned, I hope they learned from the previous time and that he is going in with some kind of non-metal weaponry. There are different kinds of ceramic and hard plastic knives that he could carry. As we saw from the scissors last time, even just a pointed stick is better than nothing. (With a nod to John Cleese.)
perhaps some sort of ceramic samurai sword is in order…
You’re still taking a knife to a gunfight.
There are ways to make non-metallic firearms. Talk to glock about it, if you doubt me.
The problem with that is you also have to have gunpowder that will work without any metallic components. That is one reason airport security gates STILL detect the aforementioned non-metallic firearms.
as an American that has actually seen a glock-
this is false. the frame is plastic, everything else is metal.
A small room, like the back of an armoured car, doesn’t say gun fight to me.
So? I’ve seen demonstrations of people with daggers getting in close enough that the handgun is almost useless (not from a great range, mind you; a few yards, usually). Besides, he’s teleporting right into melee range; however, I’m sure the jerk in the back has a hair-trigger trigger finger, so that half-second when Max is ‘porting in and a bit disoriented (at least he doesn’t have to worry about losing his fillings; that would be another two seconds while the pain stuns him, I wager) would be lethal without his magitek power armor. At which point: he’s got POWER ARMOR. He’s fine with a knife.
Also, what about Ellen Degeneres (forgive me if I spelled that wrong; I’m tired)?
Tikka tikka Reee~
GENIUS.
I have a Galaxy Note 2 as well! But mine is named Andromeda, because reasons. She is probably less bossy than Ellen, though she does like to nag and pester me about certain things from time to time.
I’ve noticed that Ellen has taken to instructing me which lane to use when approaching a freeway junction. Either it’s a software upgrade or she just knows from experience that I’ll screw it up if left to myself.
Thank heavens my phone doesn’t talk to me! I don’t talk to it (unless making or receiving a call) and it doesn’t talk [back] to me, which is how I like it. Smart phones are tricky enough [for me] without being bossy, so I’ll stick to my Motorola (Moto…something).
I will admit though, it has a pretty screen.