Signals

“It's not you. It's me.”
“We can still be friends.”
“I think you love me more than I love you.”
“You should be free to meet your special someone.”
“I'm so sorry, but my cat just doesn't like you.”

My plan for world domination is simple: vacuum cleaners. Of course, as with any fiendishly clever plan, mine has certain nuances. And although it does not involve laser beams, piranha, or secret lairs inside volcanoes, I think you will agree that my plan is quite diabolical.

The year is 1962. You are working at Decca Records and your job is to listen to audition tapes and pass along your evaluation. The next demo tape on your endlessly replenishing stack is from some unsigned band calling themselves The Beatles. You mount the tape on your machine and listen for a few minutes. Then you rewind it and put it back in its box. Pass.

You have absolutely no idea how hip you are. Seriously. No idea. Well, what I mean is that if you time-traveled yourself 30 years into the future, you would be really hip. Maybe not now, but in 2049 you will be awesome.

How many times has this happened to you? After a long day toiling in the salt mines. you are ready to finally get some shut-eye. You sink down into your Tempur-Pedic and then it starts up - boom, boom, boomity boom. Oh for Pete's sake. Your neighbor is playing his stereo again.

You call them. They put you on hold. That's bad enough. Then they play the cheesy on-hold music. That makes it worse. But even that's not as bad as the actual sound quality of the music. Oh. My. Lord.