You So Grazy

Ok the last thing I want to be is redundant, but I am on to something. Before I wrote the post on mass texting I was discussing its abuses with Iron Man and Marathon Man. The two of them are great to bounce ideas off of. When I brought up mass texting, I got a luke warm response. Clearly I ignored their reactions and wrote the post anyway. The interesting part of the conversation was Iron Man’s gut reaction to my premise.

            “You mean when a girl texts ten guys ‘Hi’ and whoever responds is getting lucky.” I laughed at the suggestion, “girls don’t do that that’s absurd.” That night I got a ‘hi’ from a certain someone. I did not respond, but my curiosity was certainly peaked. Was I one of many or was this solely meant for me? There is no way I could tell so I gave up quickly. That was until the next Monday at work.

            By Any Queens Necessary works at my company and calls me occasionally when she is bored (or thinks she is about to get fired). She had read the post earlier in the morning, and after having expounded on her hatred towards the mass text she added the following: “The other night I got a text from a guy that said ‘Hey want to stay in and watch a movie’, I have a boyfriend and he knew that, which is why I thought it was weird. I called him and he was like ‘Yeah I sent that to like twelve girls, sorry didn’t mean to include you.” She was clearly still pissed, but we laughed in a scared for society sort of way. She termed it “booty grazing” and I thought that was a robust moniker.

            Rushing through my head were ways to curb this pandemic. Most of them were wishful thinking and it started to wear on me. To my dismay I started to realize that this is going to go on as long as mass texting is an option. Then last night an old story recurred in my thinking.

            There is a boy walking down a beach in the early evening. The tide has begun to go out and there are hundreds of thousands of clams left on the seashore. The boy realizes the clams will surely die if left out of the water for much longer. He starts tossing clam after clam back into the sea. An old man happens upon him and asks: “Boy what are you doing? What is the point? There are so many clams you can not possibly save them all!” The boy smiles at the old man, tosses a clam back in, and replies: “I just saved that one didn’t I?”

            While I may not be able to save the world from this blight, I will do my best to save a few. From now on if you are ever booty grazed and want to get back, leave the male or females name, text sent, and cell phone number in the comments section of this post. Something to the affect of: “Martin 973-555-6667 ‘Wanna come over?’” Butang and I will work with you to determine an appropriate punishment. That can range from an obscene text message from one of us or repeat calls from a blocked number at 3am. If you, our readers, are grazed, you can be certain we will work with you to determine satisfying retribution. We will also publicly admonish that person in a fashion such as: “The Martin – Texting six girls at 2:15 am and winding up eating a burrito and masturbating.” I just saved that one didn’t I?   

Good looks by the Iron Man and By Any Queens Necessary on this one. I guess as long as we’re putting you up on the shady shit going down we’ve done our job. Speaking of shady shit, we will be back at 1pm with an open letter to a high profile CEO. I’m Teddy Jones and I will continue working hard for you at The Gumption.

Your Poor Huddled Masses

I recall the day I first setup my iPhone. My contacts were loaded successfully, my tunes all synced; now to notify everyone I changed my number. I start to add all who were important into a text with the new digits. All those tech savvy Mac snobs in the audience (it takes one to know one) will remember that the original iPhone did not allow you to mass text. Realizing that I would either have to tell people one by one or start a Facebook group, I fumed, I shouted, I ranted, but little did I know this was a blessing in disguise.

            Since then, I have grown to know what you will undoubtedly understand after this post. Mass texting, simply put, is the worst evil that I will write about today. It’s not really that bad, but it’s mildly annoying. Made you look right? So now that I’ve put this subject’s real relevance into a legitimate perspective, away we go! 

• The Save the Date: Civilized people used to send this message on formal stationary known as “Save the Date” cards. This text usually goes: “Hey see you on Saturday night @ 8:30, don’t be late!” Simple enough right, but what if you have an overprotective girlfriend? I can see it now: I am drying off from a shower, walk into my room, and my girlfriend is holding my phone with that “GOTCHA!” look on (ladies you know exactly what I’m talking about). “Who the hell is Michelle and why are you two hanging out Saturday night at 8:30? I thought you were going out with Kevin!” Of course she doesn’t know that Michelle is throwing Kevin a surprise birthday dinner, and I don’t blame her for being upset. Even if I did, that would just make it way worse.

• The Well Wisher We’re in a recession and holiday cards are an unnecessary expense. Instead, these Mass Texters want you to know: “Merry Christmas!”, “Happy Thnxgvng!”, or “Happy N Healthy New Year!”. Wow! Thanks! Now I know you like me at least as much as the other 25 people you sent this to. The other thing that bothers me about Well Wishing is that it usually comes from someone you could care less about. It’s always that guy in the office you were reluctant to give your number to, or the kid from high school no one talks to anymore. I guess more so than the sentiment, it’s the sender of these messages that's bogus.

• The Raconteur Usually something to the affect of: “Yo last night was BANANAS! Sick time! BROOOOOOOOO!” While I value your enthusiasm and agree with the sentiment, I object sir to the format. Let's go back to the situation with the overprotective girlfriend. I do not want to have to explain beating up a bouncer, the reason my pants have a gaping hole, shitting in a trash can, getting hit on by Jennifer Love Hewitt, or that fight I got into with an eight year old (See:Passion Contusion). You may not have a girlfriend, but someone you're sending this text to certainly does. 

Bottom line: Don’t mass text, because you’ll wind up just another lonely Masshole. WHOOPS! Forgot that term was already taken by people from Massachusetts! I am Teddy Jones and this is The Gumption.