That’s right. I see all you common people with your high-definition displays and your apps that can do a million helpful, useful, virtually essential things given our society’s reliance on digital communication and high-speed computing.

And I laugh.

Yeah, so maybe you’re able to order paper towels from all over the world at the touch of a screen. Maybe you’re able to schedule a flight or check the latest scores or troll a gullible celeb on Twitter. Maybe you’re able to find true love with a swipe up or down or whatever the hell direction it is. Maybe you’re even able to take world-class photos and video using a wide variety of lenses and creative filters. You know, I’ve actually heard that some of those cameras are, like, professional grade, and TBH I could use something that really brings out the more subtle shades of black in my flowing black-on-black-on-black mullet, because my RED Digital Cinema 710-0322 camera with its Monstro 8K VV kit is fucking awesome but super heavy to lug around all the time, and—wait, where was I? Oh yeah.

But do you know how dumb you look with that “smart” phone?

Holding up this giant brick to your head whenever you want to talk. Carrying them around bulging from your pockets, totally ruining the aerodynamics of your pants. Dealing with all those accessories, your ridiculous PopSockets and screen protectors and rose-gold plastic cases. Staring glassy-eyed at your phone at all times of the day and night, when you’re walking, when you’re eating, when you’re taking a shit or falling asleep—it’s fucking obnoxious as hell! Unless you’re staring at photos of me, in which case—all right, I get it.

But not the Two-Time.

My relationship with my flip phone is something deeper, okay? Something spiritual. Something self-actualizing on a whole new cosmic level.

The right flip phone in my hand is like an extension of my being. I hear it ring. And you know what that customized ringtone sounds like.

Bump-tsshhh.

Bump-tsshhh-tsshhh.

“They call him Doc!”

Oh yeah. I draw that baby out of my holster—of course I’ve got a holster—and I flip it open in one smooth motion. There’s no fiddling with the password, no finicky fingerprint recognition, and there damn well ain’t no fumbles or drops. Just one cool, well-oiled, slick—

FLIP!

And that baby is open for business. Check the caller ID real quick—I mean, my number is unlisted, obviously, but with fans as dedicated, as obsessed, and, between me and you, as straight-up crazy AF as mine, well, you just never know.