Monday, August 29, 2011

"Michael Bay GPS"

Dear TomTom,

I am writing you in regard to anincident I recently had with your XXL 540TM model GPS system. The device worked fine for the first three weeks I had it, and it successfully navigated my wife and me to some weekend getaways, even in off-the-beaten-path locations. However, last Saturday, while I was driving my son to his baseball game, Derek scrolled through the Voice Settings options and selected one called Michael Bay. Suddenly our route, which was only five miles from home, was radically altered. I took this to be a live traffic update and followed Mr. Bay’s tense voice, assuming that he was leading us around some congestion at the main entrance to Ungerman Park, but the next thing I knew we were on the highway and the Bay voice was barking at me to “Drive faster,” or “Drive into oncoming traffic, you pussy.” Because of your company’s products’ stellar reviews on Amazon.com, I trusted the voice and found myself shoving the gas pedal practically through the floor of my Honda Odyssey, barreling towards screaming commuters at ninety-five miles an hour. The voice then led me on a winding course through the city, where he somehow located four plate glass windows being moved across streets and directed me to crash through them. Mr. Bay’s voice kept rising and I could sense sadistic joy in him when he told me to “Crush those fruit stands like bugs,” and “Drive on the sidewalk; it’ll be badass.” The police began tailing me at this point, on land and in the air, but instead of asking me to slow down, Mr. Bay said, “The choppers are here! Time to put on a show, hot shot,” and sent me flying through the air over a parting drawbridge. Mr. Bay wouldn’t slow down, his voice blasting out of him like machine gun bullets. This went on for an hour. By the time I ran out of gas, I was in the parking lot of the Johnson Space Center and Mr. Bay was instructing me to attach my minivan to a space shuttle. He also told me that he had made “deals” and that my “weaponry” would be arriving soon. I sat there stunned, staring at Derek, considering the trail of destruction I had just caused acting as the powerless pawn of Michael Bay's commanding voice.

When we finally returned home the baseball game had ended, but my son’s respect for me was blooming. I have never felt like more of a man. My wife was furious with her trashed minivan, but she loves the new stones I have developed in my sack. Thank you, Michael Bay voice, for making a man of me. And I also blame all of the deaths I caused on him.

Is there a way I can have Mr. Bay's voice guide me in other areas of my life? He mentioned having access to hard drugs, plastic explosives, and "loose, young women," and I feel as though my stature at the office would really rise if I had Mr. Bay's voice instructing me, perhaps encouraging me to speak my mind or destroy some copiers.

Thanks for pumping up my deflated balls,
Martin Gant

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