I need a new phone

I need a new phone.

My current phone has many desirable features, but it's at least 2 weeks old. It's not cool any more. I love using it, but I can no longer be seen in public with it. Friends and family are starting to talk about me behind my back. I see strangers on street corners hunched over tiny keyboards, texting each other regarding the sorry state of my personal communication device.

Pressure mounts. My phone must be replaced posthaste. Before I can ascend the social ladder, before I have any hope of getting promoted to Assistant to the General Manager, before I have any hope of standing up to beach bullies, I must have a new phone.

I need a phone that knows me. Every cell of my being must be intertwined with every electron flowing through the precision circuitry of my phone. When I pick it up in the morning, I expect it to instantly recognize my mood and change color accordingly. It has to conform to the folds of my hand like an old friend, but an extremely high tech old friend. it should feel smooth and cool, while feeling warm and friendly. When I remove it from the charging stand, it should present me with time, date, temperature, barometric pressure, and the answer to today's Double Jeopardy question. When I put it down to eat my corn flakes it should wimper sadly and eventually sleep fitfully in anticipation of our next encounter.

This new device must fit comfortably in pocket or purse or man-purse. It should be so small that my neighbors mistake it for a tube of chapstick. It should nestle in my sock when I go jogging. The keyboard should be scientifically engineered to be the smallest possible keyboard that can be reliably pressed by my dainty fingers.

There must be no micron of wasted space on the case. Every square millimeter of case should be festooned with buttons, slide switches, lights, and sensors. I should be able to operate the phone from any angle: it must always be right-side-up even when it's upside-down. Every control should be programmable and so simple to operate that a chimp who has been awake for 48 straight hours watching reruns of The View could figure it out with one hand.

Once in a while I will make a call, but my phone needs to do other cool stuff as well. I want to take pictures with my phone. I want to film iMAX 3D videos and upload them to the Library of Congress by pressing one button. I want to check on the moisture content of the pizza I ordered from Domino's.

My phone needs apps. I need an app to find more apps. I need an app that updates all the other apps in real time by connecting to the synapses of the programmers who wrote the apps. The phone cannot have too many apps. There should be no limit to the number of apps I can install and no app should be able to hurt me or my credit rating. I require shopping apps, travel apps, cooking apps, movie apps, and apps that generate more apps.

The phone must be compatible with all apps. When my friends talk about a new app, that app should be installed onto my phone before they ask me if I have that app.

The next phone I purchase will have sensors. It will be able to determine relative speed, orientation, and altitude. It will instantly know the relative humidity and predict the imminent formation of temporal wormholes in the space-time continuum. If a tachyon pulse is emitted anywhere in the Neutral Zone, I want to know about it. If my spouse forgets my birthday, this phone will alert me.

I absolutely needs the maximum amount of Gs that a phone can possibly have jammed into it. I don't know with Gs are, but 3G, 4G, and 5G simply are not enough Gs for me.

My phone must be nG: when a new G becomes available, I want my phone to absorb that G and become the G. Oh, yes, when a phone with lesser Gs attempts to contact my phone, the connection must proceed flawlessly. My phone should be backward-G compatible. If a telegraph machine from 1840 sends a message to my phone, it should instantly show on my screen while concurrently appearing in my Twitter stream.

The new phone I get should come with a really cool plan. This plan must include unlimited everything: texting, calling, messaging, web browsing, uploading, downloading, sideloading, offloading, and minutes. I want every possible minute. No minutes should be left out. I want free weekends, free evenings, and free European holidays.

When I wander with my phone, it should connect seamlessly to networks and cell towers. When I descend underground to rescue trapped Chilean miners it should use the resonant frequency of dirt to create a universal antenna that interfaces with orbiting satellites. When I traverse the high-rise canyons of major US cities it should automatically piggyback onto wireless networks in offices and apartments. It should automagically connect to encrypted networks and consume unused bandwidth in order to download patches for all my apps.

This new phone should run for at least 48 hours on a single charge. The battery must be 99.1% efficient, giving off no heat, no EMI, and no eddy currents. When I charge the battery, it must be as simple as walking past an electrical outlet with the phone in my pocket. I absolutely refuse to plug it in to any electrical device that tethers me to one place. I am a busy person who has no time for time-wasting battery charging activities.

Any electrical or electronical device within shouting distance must interface with my new phone. Any television or home theater must recognize my phone and immediately submit to it. I want to be the PDC in every Windows network. I should be able to connect to a PacMan machine or a George Foreman Grill, sometimes concurrently, for obvious reasons.

When German supercriminals take over the Nakatomi Plaza building I need to be able to plug my phone into the first available electrical outlet and control elevators, computers, HVAC systems, and detonators. The safety of the free world could depend on the interoperability of my new phone.

Jack Bauer will covet this phone.

The phone I crave should be free when I sign up for a calling plan with no contract. I want the associate in the phone store to hand me the phone when I walk in the door: I do not have time to browse the lesser phones while other customers ask how to add a contact to their address book. I will never wait outside the phone store in a line that stretches past Orange Julius and American Eagle.

The phone must be durable. If I drop my phone, it should back up all my data on the way down. When it hits the ground it should relay its' location to geosynchronous satellites before bouncing back into my hand, undamaged. I should be able to use it in the shower or while shooting the curl on the Banzai Pipeline. It should be oil-resistant: I fully expect to be making calls as I lay under my Bugatti Veyron, changing the oil and bypassing the catalytic converter.