It really chaps my shorts when I’m in a conversation with a comrade and they have to incessantly fiddle with their phones. Mostly I just walk away, only for them to get angry and say that I need to behave. The irony!
Cell phone decorum has sunk to a Brobdingnagian low among my comrades. In fact, the situation is so bad that methinks it is time universities introduced Phone Etiquette 101 as a compulsory unit. These cellular doodads are fast leading our youth towards the Rubicon; a point of no return.
Comrades nowadays fall just short of worshipping their mobiles. Mobiles have since become a part of their bodies, and wouldn’t be switched off even during meetings and church gatherings. They rank among the most overworked devices by my comrades, coming only second to their alcohol-processing livers.
And today’s phones don’t just text and call. They take nude photos and sex tapes, speed-dial cannabis suppliers, download sleazy videos full of pee and poop, and sext. If you have no idea what sexting is, watch these pages because I plan to write about it in a future column.
This is a generation that never takes a jog across the pitch to keep fit; their idea of working out is playing Temple Run all day long. Then there’s this other one I never seem to quite wrap my head around, Candy Crush Saga. Why don’t you get up that couch, buy some real candy, and have even more excitement by crushing them physically?
A trick in the hat when it comes to cheating in exams is to pluck answers in verbatim from Google. The ‘mwakenyas’ of yore are almost extinct; now enter the age of high-tech exam stealers. It’s mendacious and dishonourable.
Let’s not forget the way texting has led to a rise in abbreviated writing and hence the death of good grammar as we know it. Comrades miss more periods than a pregnant girl in their writing, and only use punctuation marks in concocting horrifying yellow smileys.
When they’re not smashing candies or taking selfies, you will most likely find comrades scrolling through social media either picking up gossip or creating it. My old man, Grandpa Richard, tried to understand Twitter but the sentences were all written backwards and full of strange symbols.
Speaking of Grandpa Richard, I think comrades can learn at his feet about liberating themselves from technology. The old man grew up during an era where the entire village only had one telephone at the post office, and it was only used to transmit death and funeral announcements. He currently owns a cell phone just to keep up with the Joneses (no, not this writer), but his is an old model that doesn’t enslave him. The other day he lost it in the farm and forgot about it until two weeks later. Despite having rained heavily, grandpa just wiped the mud off the gadget and it promptly sprung back to life.
Do not be a slave to your phone.

Lukorito Jones

When I'm not busy chasing around stories for my quasi-journalism career, you'll find me dabbling in fiction and perfecting my deer-dancing and goat-screaming skills.

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