We all need someone in our life who makes us convulse with such laughter that we squirt adult beverages out our nose and practically pee our pants. (Yes, I am five going on eighty.)
Lucky for me, my friend Mike has a Ph.D. in adolescent behavior, with a specialty in potty humor.
Before my recent Milwaukee visit with him and his wife Peggy (one of my oldest and dearest friends), Mike bought a new iPhone 4S. Infatuated with his toy--as grown men tend to be--he began to show off the phone's new voice-command feature.
"Text Scott Johnson," Mike instructed Siri, the voice-recognition assistant.
Siri seemed a bit slow on the uptake."I don't know who your father is," she replied. "In fact, I don't know who you are."
"What the hell?" Mike said. "OK, text Sherry Stanfa."
"Sorry," she answered. "I can't find places in the Falkland Islands."
"What an effin moron," Mike said.
Poor Siri. I was willing to give her another chance. So far, she didn't make me feel anywhere near as stabby as GPS Wench, who constantly likes to remind me how my screw-ups have forced her into "recalculating."
But Mike had his fill of serious queries. He was ready to move on. "Siri, why do farts smell?"
I giggled. Fart jokes: Not just for kindergarten anymore.
"I have no answer," said Siri. "How about a Web search for 'Why do farts smell?' "
"No," Mike yelled. "I said, 'My wife farts a lot. Why do they smell so bad?' "
"What's your location?" asked Siri.
We howled. Apparently, Siri wished to steer clear of our particularly unpleasant smelling location.
"Forget that," Mike said to Siri. "Where is my underwear?"
She hesitated just briefly before responding. "You sound disoriented," she told him.
And that's when my drink found its way out of my nostrils. It seemed Siri could give it as good as she could take it.
The saintly tolerant Peggy glared at her husband. "Mike, ENOUGH. You're going to make her mad."
"Peg, it's a computer," he said.
"I don't care. You're going to piss her off and break the phone," said Peggy. "Besides, don't you think there are ten million people asking her these same stupid questions?"
I crossed my legs, still laughing. "He asked where his underwear is," I said. "I sincerely doubt ten million people have asked that."
"OK, but he bought this phone and is paying hundreds of dollars for something he has no idea how to properly use," Peg said. "Mike, do you even know how to send a text message?"
"Sure," said Mike. He squinted at the phone. "You just have to push something."
Peggy rolled her eyes and refilled her drink.
"I'm paying hundreds of dollars for this phone," Mike demanded of Siri. "So I want to know, where is the nearest whorehouse?"
"Jesus," Peggy said, with a palm to her forehead. "You're going to get a phone call any minute from a customer asking, 'Why did you just text me and ask where the nearest whorehouse is?' "
Mike ignored her, still intent on his nonsensical phone conversation. "Siri, can you explain poop soup?"
And so it went for the rest of the night. Mike berated Siri with juvenile and inappropriate questions, and I giggled until the wee hours of the morning.
We had lunch the next day with my youngest son, a Marquette student majoring in techno-geekology. I relayed Mike's encounters with the new iPhone and Siri.
He nodded. "Yeah, Siri, she's a sassy one. Let me see the phone."
"Siri, why are you such a bitch?" he asked.
After the previous night's altercations, Siri apparently had grown weary of such talk. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that," she answered.
"Really?" he countered. "I don't believe you."
And right on cue, Siri said, "You are certainly entitled to your opinion."
"See?" Son #2 said, passing back the phone. "The computer understands almost everything you say, and it's recorded and saved forever."
"Forever?" Peggy's chin dropped. "Oh Mike, you are so screwed."
But it seems to me Mike has found his match in Siri. I'm guessing they'll become fast friends.
I just pray she doesn't short-circuit when she squirts her margarita out her little electronic nose.
Are you hot for the new iPhone? Do you have a friend who makes you squirt margaritas out your nose? What's the stupidest question you've ever been asked? And do you know where your underwear is?