Talkman

Mike Rashoff forwarded this via Col. Redass. The only reason it's included here is the peculiar focus on the anthropomorphic insight into ethnic origins of technological innovation. Note the partisan political undertones which are specifically Japanese.

Following the introduction of satellite radio, Japanese engineers came to feel that wireless hardware had been neglected and left behind. They commenced work on a new car-radio concept—Talkman—that operated solely by voice command. After completion of product development, they took the new equipment for shakedown testing to Orange County.

For this purpose, the personnel department of the North American branch of the huge conglomerate had hired a temp test driver: T. Merriman Hyatt, Republican.

By the time Merriman reported for duty at US headquarters in Irvine, the Talkman was installed, debugged and operational in the dashboard of the gas-guzzling Escalade specifically chosen for the test.

As the briefing team from Tokyo led Merriman through the pre-commissioning checklist and briefed him on the test protocol, Merriman couldn’t help but notice how low key and innocuous the radio looked, set inconspicuously into its customary dashboard location.

The briefing completed, Merriman settled into the driver’s seat, buckled up and started the Escalade, peeling off toward the San Diego Freeway.

Once comfortably on the freeway Merriman clearly enunciated the name of his favorite group.

“The Four Seasons!” he exclaimed.

The radio immediately launched into the Winter Movement of The Four Seasons by Antonio Vivaldi.

Merriman realized he’d failed to set the radio to “Group” instead of “Composition.” as per the briefing. He immediately swore to cut back on the schnapps the very next week and sheepishly, Merriman said, in full accordance with the instructions: “Control--Group!”

“Righto” replied the radio. And it immediately started playing in that famous falsetto, “Sherreee, Sheree Baybee…”

“Wow,” said Merriman, “This machine is goood.”

Merriman spent the rest of the afternoon ecstatically grooving to his favorite music on the incredible sound system as he cruised the freeways of beautiful downtown Southern California.

“Donovan!” he cried out. And the ersatz Dylan immediately flowed forth from the state-of-the-art speakers in all his stultifying derivation.

“Melanie!” he screamed in a fit of criminal self-indulgence—although he was, after all, alone in the car and no one would know.

“The Carpenters!” he moaned in near-euphoria, and the sound system immediately launched into “We’ve Only Just Begun,” an old bank commercial from a time when banks changed their names less frequently than did their customers.

Merriman was beside himself with enthusiasm for the new system. It satisfied the consumer’s slightest whim—instantaneously, perfectly and without complaint. No doubt about it, the Talkman was a sure fire winner. Parenthetically, it had been no accident the Japanese company had chosen T. Merriman Hyatt as its test driver—

Suddenly a Volvo full of commuters from out of the carpool lane pulled directly in front of him, forcing Merriman and the Escalade to careen wildly across the full width of the freeway, off onto the opposite shoulder where Merriman wrestled with and somehow, miraculously, tamed the huge SUV, finally guiding it back onto the freeway.

“ASSHOLES!!!” he screamed.

Immediately, the radio burst into a song that caught Merriman off guard. Totally inane, the music seemed to calm Merriman after the near-disaster with the Volvo. It seemed familiar and yet Merriman couldn’t quite place it. It was a style more than a specific piece of music, probably from the Seventies—or even earlier.

Merriman was puzzled.

He’d set the radio onto “Group.” When the song finished, Merriman said to the radio, “Group Members!”

“That was The Assholes,” intoned the radio, “with Ted Kennedy on drums, Bill Clinton on alto sax, Hillary Clinton on the triangle, John Kerry on piano, Russ Feingold on tambourine…and Nancy Pelosi on skin flute.”