I thought I had heard it all, except for the sentence, “Red mulligatawny hips started neoconservatism,” which still remains a fickle conversation piece. But then, I picked up the Detroit Free Press, and what to my wandering eyes should appear, but a proposition to erect cellular phone towers in graveyards.
Immediately I laughed, which is odd because I can’t read. I had my manservant Albert read the article to me, and, upon hearing it, grew quite horrified. I thought it was common knowledge that, in Episode 58 of the famed science fiction series, “The Twilight Zone,” a child is able to contact his dead grandmother through a simple phone cable that runs into the woman’s grave. Am I to believe that we are so reckless a society that we willingly forget an arcane and meaningless urban legend that originally aired over 40 years ago? And furthermore, are we arrogant enough to assume that now, in this electronic age, the dead also have neglected to go wireless?
The implications of this idea became, to me, overwhelming. Imagine your average phone conversations interrupted by dead relatives. Didn’t we get enough berating about our posture or our clothing when our grandparents were still alive? Do we really want our ancestors listening in on our phone sex? And, especially relevant to dead broke college students: Does the afterlife count as roaming?
However, as I researched the idea, cracks began to appear in the veneer. According to the renowned scientific docudrama, “White Noise,” the dead have already found ways to contact us through electronic means. Additionally, they are attempting to help save the living from disaster. But, if this is the case, am I really supposed to believe that the dead would use Michael Keaton as their conduit? Am I ready to assume that, like their rotting flesh, the character judgment of the dead also deteriorates?
It was difficult, but I finally decided the argument was silly. The dead wouldn’t bother to speak with us, because the fact is, our conversations are just too boring. Or yours are.
Furthermore, I came to the realization that, as our culture completely deteriorates and makes me ashamed to be alive, there are now not two but three certainties in life: death, taxes and cellular communication. And I had an idea to kill two birds and erect a cellular phone tower over their graves with one stone: Make our individual tombs into cell-phone transmitters. Yes, instead of one giant tower, which would prove to be a bit of an eyesore during a funeral procession (though it would be great to finally get a good connection, even if you are busy burying your loved ones), we should integrate wireless technology into our marble commemorative phalli, which, let’s face it, serve very little purpose except to confirm how correct Freud was in a lot of what he said.
“But, Bryan,” some of you might say in high, annoying, tinny voices, “don’t you think the property of graveyards is sacrosanct, intended to be peaceful, relaxing and respectful of those that have passed into another life?” And I say to these naysayers, “Nay, nay! Be comforted!” Remember that, when President Bush, on that cold January morning, put his hand on the Constitution and swore to defend the Bible against foreign aggressors, I knew he was going to protect all that was sacred to a few white Anglo-Saxon Protestants from harm. And if he’s not interested in defending the dead, who, I might add, are no longer living, and consequently, are way past military age, well, then, neither am I. We are living in a culture of life here, people, and the dead simply don’t cut it anymore.
Kelly is an LSA freshman and a member of the Daily’s editorial board.