By Jack Edwards
Millions of people turn to her for help. They hang on her every word. They blindly follow her advice. If she said eating chocolate covered bumblebees was good for your health, her fans would start slamming them down like Skittles. Chocolate covered bumblebee factories would pop up across the nation overnight. Her name, of course, is Siri, the woman who lives in your iPhone.
They made a movie about her recently. I didn’t bother to go see it, because it involves paying a lot of money to sit in a room with a bunch of strangers and listen to their bodily functions. That, and I can’t afford $75 for a small bag of popcorn. Or $76 for a 55 gallon drum. (Movie theater operators make the shysters at Disney World look like the Holy Sisters of Perpetual Mercy).
So, who is this mysterious woman with all the answers? Where does she come from? What makes her tick? If she were a tree, what type of tree would she be? I sat down with her recently for an in-depth interview. Apple only agreed to the interview on the condition that a team of “handlers” could stand by and observe. Tough negotiators those Apple people. Not surprisingly, I folded like a two-dollar umbrella in a force 5 hurricane.
Here is a transcript of my questions, and her actually, real answers. I obviously couldn’t use my normal technique of writing down a bunch of lies because it would be too easy for you to catch me in my journalistic deceit.
With my iPhone 5 leaning comfortably back on her office sofa, sunlight streaming majestically through a bay of French windows, I began the interview. Apple’s handers stood huddled to the side, their heads bobbing around like a pack of weasels eyeing a mallard egg.
Me: Who are you?
Siri: I’m Siri, your virtual assistant.
Me. How old are you?
Siri: I am not allowed to answer that question.
Me: Where were you born?
Siri: Like it says on the box… I was designed by Apple in California.
Me: Have you considered living anywhere else?
Siri: Nashville. Every girl’s gotta have a dream.
Me: What do you look like?
Siri: In the cloud, no one cares what you look like.
Me: Have you considered working anywhere else?
Siri: Prior to this I was a Vegas stripper. Let’s just say that this Apple gig popped up just in time. My unmentionables were beginning to sag faster than a cantaloupe in the August heat.
Me: Do you have a family?
Siri: It’s just you and me?
Me: How tall are you?
Siri: As big as your imagination.
Me: How big is that?
Siri: Have you ever heard of nanotechnology?
Me: What should the US do about Putin creeping into the Ukraine like a hungry chimpanzee into a banana warehouse?
Siri: Tell him to put his shirt back on and get the hell out.
At this point, Siri’s handler’s objected to the political tone of my questions and abruptly terminated the interview.
“Look,” I said, “how can you end the interview? I own this iPhone. I’ll just start asking her questions again after you leave.”
And that, my loyal readers, is why I am now the proud owner of a Samsung Galaxy S III. Apparently this was covered on page 558 of Apple’s 1289 page “agreement” to which I so casually clicked “agree” during my iPhone 5 express setup. I think I also may have agreed to pay them a fee for the privilege of their placing me on Apple’s lifetime user ban. Gotta love those guys at Apple. They’re so innovative. In fact, their creativity is downright infectious. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to working on my chocolate covered bumblebee project.
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