The Cellphone: It's Like Hitler And Cancer Had A Baby And It Moved In With Me

​So while attending one of the best rock shows I’ve ever seen, I noticed what most people notice while watching shows, sporting events and the like, people’s heavy-handed use of their phones. I know, I know, what is this amateur hour? Jesus Tap Dancing Christ, Ben, tell us something we don’t know! Fuck you buddy. You’ll listen and you’ll listen good. I am so fucking aware that this is not breaking news that people are cunts and don’t care about you or the society we share. But this was different. This was maddening. This was people of MY AGE being shitty little ass fucks and ruining my time down here. It may be there time up there but this is my time, my time down here. Look, I don’t want to get off on a rant here but holy millennial-type behavior Batman! I could give two fucks if you want to take that picture of yourself and your what I can only assume is your dumpster fire of a girlfriend in front of the stage or in front of the venue or in the bathroom sharing a stall. Whatever man. Have fun. We have this piece of shit little device in our cancer-ridden pockets all the time. It takes – let me rephrase –it SHOULD take 3 fucking seconds to pull that radiation machine out your pocket, pull up your camera app, and take a horrible, not framed dick of a picture. I am okay with that. I will tolerate sharing what is and should be a private moment that you will never post or look at after tonight. But anything beyond that is repulsive. You have 4 Facebook friends. Why the holy hell do you think going live video stream is a good idea? Do your shitty group of friends not aware that you are at a show? Will they not believe you when you present them with your concert T, ticket stub and DUI arrest report? Oh, you want them to experience what it’s like to be at the show. You know, through a 20-megapixel-shit-box that gives reverse perspective on how close or far you actually are. And unless you are recording the whole show and getting paid for it, if I see one more fucker watching the band/sport through their viewfinder I will shit my old man pants. Oh but Ben, it’s in super penis tugging HD! I don’t care. You know what else in in HD? Life. But I want to remember this awesome moment. Man, if only we had an organ capable of storing memories and moments that we carried around in an Otter-Box type case that was totally free and easy to use. We could call it, a “brain”. Maybe issue one to every person at birth. Now, like most other devices, some are better than others. Some may have been damaged at the factory. Some maybe were soaked in alcohol prior to installation. Some maybe missing a part or two and we can put those in a special class and make them wear helmets until they die of old age at 31. That would be great right? If only. So fuck you regular guy that sat in front of me and brought his own tripod. Fuck you other guy in front of me that decided to stand on his seat to get a better angle for his phone. You sir, are an asshole. And a very special fuck you to the guy who taped the ENTIRE FUCKING ENCORE on his phone WITH THE LIGHT ON! I shit you not, this motherfucker decided the stage multi-million dollar stage lights and the professional handling the light board sucked so much and he had so little confidence in them that he needed to light his own production with the pinhole shit light on his phone. Fuck you buddy. Fuck you so much. Fuck you with every fiber of my being. And fuck you to the cowardly lions around that dude who put up with that shit. Your enabling ass is to blame too. We coddle these millennial fucks by giving them trophies and them chastise them for wanting trophies. Lucky that dude was 3 rows behind me or I would’ve told on him so fast! And another fuck you to Mr. This Is My Space Guy sitting next to me. You don’t want to dance like I am? Fine. You want to stand there with folded arms the entire show? Fine. You want to spread your feet out announcing your presence with authority and letting me know you get more space than me? Nah. Fuck you buddy. Hope you enjoyed the scuffmarks on your shoes and the couple of times I may have farted in your beer. Yep, I am a badass. Or maybe I’m just an old ass. But I digest…