I Want To Kill My Cellphone
By Meredith Stisser
Published Issue 117, September 2023
I want to kill my cell phone.
I want to offer my cell phone to a demolition derby and watch it get whipped around and brutally crushed for twenty minutes by a green monster truck with pointy teeth painted on the doors called “La Chica Mala” before being towed out of the ring as a sweaty audience throws popcorn and half-full soda cups at it.
I want to feed my cell phone to an alligator without it causing the alligator any digestive tract issues.
I want to drop my cell phone into a vat of acid and pour that acid down the sink of the apartment I rent, then call my property manager and say “the drain is clogged again and I don’t know why.”
I want to take my cell phone on several dates and indicate with all certainty that I’d like to get serious with it. After a month and having gotten the cell phone’s guard down, I will go radio silent. Once the cell phone politely requests more time together, I will tell it I was never looking to have a cell phone in the first place, and I think another ear is better suited for the device, also can it Venmo me for bowling?
I want to cut my cell phone into cubes, then add it to a nice bowl of diced tomatoes, mangoes, cilantro, lime, salt, pepper and a dash of cumin, bring it to a potluck dinner, and tell the host to keep the leftovers and not to worry about returning the bowl.
I want to throw my cell phone as the first pitch at a Dodgers game and watch Mookie Betts swing and crush it into deep left field.
I want to use my cell phone as a pigeon in a skeet shooting outing that my soon-to-be in-laws take me along on because they think I’m some city slicker who isn’t good enough for their son, but when I shout “pull” my cell phone soars into the air and I nail it like a dead-eye and it shatters to dust and all of my in-laws are instantly won over; the little sister with asthma, the green-eyed uncle who keeps kissing me on the cheek too close to my mouth, and even my fiancé’s mother who was especially skeptical of me after learning I was a vegetarian.
I want to hit my cell phone with a hammer.
I want to wack my cell phone in the head with a frying pan so hard because I believe it to be a home invader, then upon it crashing to the ground, realize it is not breathing and that I have just committed phoneslaughter in self-defense. I would wrap the phone in a black tarp and drive many miles into Northeast California and dump my cell phone into Mono Lake in the dead of night. The act would haunt my conscience and I would develop a tick in which I’m always washing my hands but can’t seem to get them clean, nor ever fry an egg again.
I want to stare at the black mirror of my cell phone as it clings to the edge of a cliff and sneer, “Long live the king,” before I toss it into a wildebeest stampede.
I want to drop my cell phone off at the fire station in a bassinet with nothing but a note that reads “I’m Sorry” and a locket with the name “Jobs” engraved on it.
I want to drop my cell phone into the mouth of a volcano in hopes of bringing peace to the land after a long, arduous quest in which I learn valuable lessons about loyalty, faith and the impermeable bonds of true friendship.
I want to write a letter to my cell phone about all of its flaws and shortcomings and bad habits and instead of leaving it in a drawer, mail it Priority in an envelope full of glitter.
I want to do horrible, wretched, unspeakably angry things to my cell phone.
I want to kill my cell phone, because all day long, I act like I want to make love to it.
Meredith Stisser is a writer, performer, and visual artist in Los Angeles, CA. She performs standup comedy throughout southern California and writes for Fragmented Collective. Her writing has yet to be featured commercially, which she attributes to the specificity of her ~vision~.
Follow her on Instagram for more of her work.
