What a magnificent experience. Truly technology was a great thing.
Suddenly my workout was interrupted by the outside world utilizing the direct access to my brain I had so thoughtfully provided.
Beep. Beep. Bzzt.
“Siri,” I panted. “What was that?”
“A text message from Uncle Shran,” she replied saucily using the slutty voice pack I had purchased on iTunes for only $29.99.
I was such an accomplished long distance runner I never broke stride. I had my second wind and didn’t want to stop.
“Read message, please,” I gasped.
“Sure thing, Tom. The message says, ‘Where the hell are you? I’m waiting by the truck.’ Would you like to send a response?”
I pondered as I ran a few more miles.
“Yes, Siri,” I finally gargled. “Please tell Uncle Shran to go to hell.”
“Message sent, Tom. Would you like to hear your most favorited tweet of the day?”
“Sure, why not?”
“I’m sorry, Tom. None found.”
“Go to hell, Siri.”
Oh wait. I almost forgot. Siri doesn’t do any of that. Bummer. I had to stop running, pull the device out of my pocket, try to view the screen in the glinting sun, and do all the damn work myself. I was so devastated that I walked back to my car, drove to the nearest McDonald’s and ate three Big Macs. Thanks a lot for the weight gain, Siri.
“You’re welcome, Tom.”