It presented like a virus.
Random, nonsensical images displayed on the screen of my i-phone like some kind of crazy, voo-doo message. The mean people of the world, with too much time on their evil, nerdy little hands, find great delight in wreaking havoc on the computers of the weak. I can picture them now, hunched over the keyboard in some place like Pakistan or in the province of Guangdong, laughing manically in their taped, black-framed eyeglasses as the newest form of corruption is produced that causes Microsoft Word to type in Cantonese.
Many times I miss out on important emails from friends because my pointy finger is too chicken to click on the incoming communication, hovering indecisively over vague subject boxes with titles like “you’re not gonna believe this” or “why did you miss our meeting?” or worse yet, “child’s forgotten lunch”. Attachments containing viruses provide the new hysteria of the technological world in the same manner “black ice” scares the britches off of those in the South.
So this morning, the arbitrary photos that seemed psychedelic in nature caused enough concern for further investigation. There were a total of forty-nine images brought on by the malevolence of the virus, necessitating that I go through each one to delete the wickedness that had infiltrated my phone.
At first, there didn’t seem to be a pattern to the blurry depictions on the screen. With trepidation, I slowly clicked the arrow button that took me to the next image, wondering in a way only an alarmist would understand if anyone had ever been physically injured by a freakazoid virus sent through an i-phone. My thought process may seem to some as pessimistic in disposition, but keep in mind that it is coming from someone who recently was bodily harmed while shopping for an oriental rug.
Suddenly, and quite surprisingly, I came upon an image I recognized. It looked like a picture of the Jonas Brothers. Those creepy computer geeks have reached an all-time low when they have to resort to sending their technology muck disguised as the cute, innocent boy band that brings my five year old daughter such joy.
The pictures became clearer, and my Encyclopedia Brown investigative skills kicked into overdrive, providing the answer to the puzzle fashioned by the forty-nine photos. Not to mention that I discovered this:
Well, that takes care of that. Mystery solved. Now I have to go and compose a letter of apology to the computer nerds in Pakistan and the province of Guangdong for the unnecessary profiling and assignment of blame for i-phone contamination.
I think I’ll write it in Cantonese.