My girlfriend never puts her iPhone down. Facebook, game apps, texting -- it's like it's glued to her hand. I've asked her before to give it a rest, but she's addicted to it. I'm sick of dating her phone.
-- Dating a Droid
Staging a smartphone intervention is like seizing an Adderall-soaked pacifier from a millennial.
Technology allows us to walk around with the future in our pants, so why would we need a human hand down there hogging space?
You're in a threesome, kid (but not the motorboating-four-tits kind). Send your iPhone an invitation to the party and you're just shy of a gangbang.
Since technology allows us to have a mini portal to everything at our ombre-colored fingertips, why would we put it down?
I'll tell you why, mon chéri. We crave human touch. Science has shown that it calms anxiety, it satisfies our sensory passion, it unites us as humans and it feels lovely: genital hugs, ass-to-crotch spooning, salad tossing. Mmmm. (By science I mean me.)
We aimlessly roam for apps. We jam our shins into coffee tables while texting. We cross into oncoming lanes while Google mapping. We ignore a human conversation while smudging our screens.
This common problem is not going anywhere, so we just need to fold. If you want to make a face-time appointment with your fembot, you'll have to lay down your own rules.
While you're apart from her -- at school, work, in her dad's bed -- tell her she can rub up that touchscreen all she pleases. But when you spend time together, tell her she has to give the hunk o'glass-encased machine an Ambien-soaked pacifier.
If you wanted to date a droid, your gold ass would be banging down R2-D2's back door. (I bet.)
Just litter your cheap carpet with dozens of cinderblocks. After a week of bloody gashes and hairline fractures, she'll realize she needs to actually see when she walks.
My boyfriend goes to school in California, and aside from Skype sex, he's talking about getting us some of that Fundawear from Durex, where you control the vibrating underwear with your iPhone. Have you heard much about this?
-- Horny in Colorado
Let's reminisce the fifth paragraph (it's been a minute): Technology allows us to have a mini portal to everything at our ombre-colored fingertips
This now includes electrical jolts caressing the place we make pee-pee.
I've only read about the devices, so test that bitch out and report back. Might as well spruce up your long-distance sex. Then you can sport them under your church dress at Sunday brunch.
But I say you stop acting a robot foo and use props like phalanges, fists and washing machines to assist in blowing your load.