I wish that whoever came up with robocalls had also invented time travel. Then, when we catch him, and we will, we can take him to one of the most mind-numbing moments of his life and put him on loop forever … 

We could even record this, a truly terrible idea, and turn it into the second worst movie in history. We’d name it Robocall, The Movie after the timeless classic Robo-Cop. Oh man, this is terrible on a number of levels. I’m past the deadline of turning this article in, and because my articles are usually so super-awesome, I’m sure it’s being read by the rich and powerful in Hollywood. Consequently, since Hollywood-ians turn every single idea into a movie, no matter how hopelessly horrible said idea is, it’s only a matter of time before we see Robocall, The Movie (Oh, the humanity!) coming to theaters near us. 

Now, at this point, you may be wondering – if indeed you’re still reading. I would usually hope you are continuing to read, but I’m not sure how this piece is going to turn out. If you’re finding it anywhere near as bad as I imagine Robocall, The Movie (What beseecheth my eyes?!) to be, please stop reading right away, burn this page, and scatter its ashes over a nearby marsh. Then, pray to everything sacred that words such as the ones coming from my fingers shalt never ever be written again. I digest – why I’m writing this.

Just now reading this opening to my wife, she said, “Don’t abuse your reader.” But I’m writing about robocalls because we live in the most hated area code of all time: 407. Thanks be to robots.  

I mean, every time I make a call out of town, I have to leave a message. Robocalls. The only explicable reason people don’t jump for the phone whenever I call is they think I’m a robot. And probably not a cool one, like R2-D2 from Star Wars, or not even C-3PO. And C-3PO is worse than the yuppie-loving, self-propelled circular vacuum robot that we trip on in the middle of the night, and he sucks. No telling what kind of robot makes robocalls.

Robocalls remind me of early mornings in my teen years. All I wanted to do was pack one more precious moment of sleep under my lids, when I’d hear what sounded like a banshee yelling at me to get up. It wasn’t a banshee, it was Mom. Thankfully, my instinct to roll over and go back to sleep was overruled by a deeper, more life-preserving instinct, the one that says moms have other banshee qualities. 

When it comes to bad ideas, however, I’ve got lots. And indeed, I have been trying some out with robocalls. When they call, I cut right to the chase and offer to give them all of my personal information. Apparently, this throws a hiccup into the robot universe, and they have no idea what to do with me. The line usually goes dead like this ————–, but once I had one stammer on about how they can’t do that and that they’d need to talk to their manager. This may have been a human. Poor soul.

And speaking of poor souls, if I get many more of these calls, I might just write Your Worst Life Now. I’d loosely base it on five easy steps. Step one: Find a deserted island. Step two: Since finding a deserted island is difficult, no one will do it. So just find an abandoned lot and sit down in the tall grass. Step three: Before doing so, be sure to grab a computer and look up, “How to survive on grubs and rainwater in an abandoned lot.” Step four: Pack a solar panel charger, Robocall, The Movie (Cripes!), and bring your cell. Step five: Now, with cell in hand, grubs in mouth, and Robocall, The Movie (Mine eyes cannot un-watch this!) playing, you are only allowed to answer calls from numbers you don’t recognize. Congratulations, you have achieved the worst first-world problem!

Maybe the most terribilist thing of all about robocalls, other than making us snap at innocent friends (who aren’t in our contact list), is that robots don’t have feelings. We can’t really hurt them on an emotional level like we desire to. However, I have a hunch that if it’s not the Russians that are behind this (I love having the Russians back in the game as the bad guys. I missed them), it has to be the sandhill cranes again. Stay with me here. 

In my mind, sandhill cranes are the world’s most annoying birds. They peck at their reflections on our cars, they purposely rip our lawns to shreds, they mosey across streets, causing traffic delays (as if we don’t have enough already), they make picnics impossible by not taking no for an answer, and they do fly-bys whenever you go outside, often resulting in coffee down your pants. If you’ve ever been pooped on by one, I’m profoundly sorry. 

Oh, and the worst movie of all time is a straight tie between nature movies on sandhill cranes or Cats, which is about as much fun as coughing up a hairball, only to learn it’s alive. But I’d take contemplating our feathered fiends or resisting clawing my eyes out over watching Robocall, The Movie. 

I suspect this was a truly terrible article, but then, a good article on robocalls might be too ironic, even for me. Plus, robocallers don’t deserve a good one.