Dear Genius of Convenience,
Trust is a very important thing to me, so I will relish this product. As a matter of fact, I spread my trust around sparingly, just like the condiment. I trust people as far as I can throw them. I'm extremely out of shape, so the only people who have never shaken my faith are babies and children under 40 pounds because they really go the distance. My belief in them is steadfast until they reach the age where they become heavy and easily tempted by the sweet candy bar in the front pocket of Evil's jeans.
I wish I could have the throwing success rate of an Olympic javelin thrower, but the world is just not like that, especially with the rampant obesity in America. 99% of people are just simply not to be trusted in one respect or another, whether it's a chronic pathological liar, or an occasional fibber. Can you believe that people have the audacity to add fictional inches to their height on a driver's license, or their "length" when trying to crassly woo a lady? Someone's always hiding something. Except for me. I wear my openness like a badge. I don't even own dressers or closets so people can see all of my possessions strewn about my apartment. OK, so maybe I'm just a slob, but still... If people want a close, personal relationship with someone as unique and special as me, they better think twice about being dishonest, because I know with almost 100% certainty when someone's on the level!
How can I be so sure? Because I hook all prospective friends and lovers up to my vintage 60's analog lie detector! It's a classic, and I've calibrated it perfectly myself, a picture of my best gal is enclosed. I call her Polly. She's a bit cumbersome when lugging to a bar to pick up an appropriate, sincere woman, that's why I'm highly interested in your compact high-tech product even though I'll need to get used to this whole "digital" thing. Actually if there's any way I can get a schematic so I can set it to my usual hyper-sensitive, "white lie and hesitant omission" level, I'd appreciate it.
I'm especially sensitive to this when it comes to women. I fear having my heart broken like I did with my last (and first) girlfriend, Ann, back in 1973. I met her at the one bar in town that would allow me to set up my polygraph equipment to conduct a thorough investigation of prospective dates. Everywhere else threw me out because they felt the thing was invasive, and they were a little uncomfortable with me injecting people with sodium pentathol. Maybe they felt that making people relaxed and a little loopy for free would detract from their business.
Ann was having a "girls night out" with two of her friends. After eavesdropping on them for an hour through my boom-mic-and-headphones set up, I decided that she seemed nice enough to put through some rigorous moral and psychological tests to determine if she was worthy of my boundless affections.
She already had about 10 beers and was tipsy to say the least. I introduced myself and told her that I wanted to get to know her a lot better. Completely, actually. I asked her if she'd like to come with me to someplace quieter. I took her vomiting on my shirt as a nod and therefore a "yes".
I told her that I was an awful judge of character and that I had a deep-seeded fear of being hurt, so I needed the electronic aid of my polygraph to make a useful assessment of her personality. She agreed, and I was so excited, my nervous hands kept knocking the suction-cup probes pop off her! When I went to inject her with the sodium pentathol, I said "OK, now, you're going to feel a little prick". She replied, "Oh, so you want to skip the tests and go back to your place? Don't sell yourself 'short' like that! I hear that objects in the drunkard feel larger then they appear."
What a delightful sense of humor, I thought! We talked quite candidly for about three hours, about all aspects of her life, and all of her statements about life, love, and interests were truthful. I had no idea what she said, but the needles on the machines barely budged, and that's all I needed to hear. This was The One.
We dated for a few days, but things began rapidly deteriorating. The changes between the results of her first test and the ones I administered thrice daily was drastic. Since I established her genuine sincerity, I could stick to the same shorter list of questions each time. Perhaps the repetition wore her down from her international superspy-like cool to the amoral beast that she would be revealed as.
Questions like: "Is everything ok?", "Do you find me annoying?", and "Can we pretty please have sex after I'm through conducting this interrogation?" were consistently answered with "Yes", "No", and "Yes" respectively, but the data progressively verged farther and farther from the standard deviation, and the needles scratching out the results became knives scratching into my back.
One day I found her to be flat-out wrong with her answers. I lashed out:
"You're lying, you think everything's not ok, but you say it is! HOW DARE YOU!!!"
This was the point of full deceit. The point of no return.
I gave her the benefit of the doubt, and asked about her concerns and if this could be worked out. She said that "it's the lie detector thing". She thought it was cute at first, perhaps even a sexual fetish, but then it "got old real fast". She then said that she stuck it out because she pitied me, but she just couldn't take it anymore and she dumped me.
I'm the one betrayed, and she has the gall to think it's not working out? I called her a cab and lots of nasty names. She said, "why don't you probe this?" and stuck out her middle finger. I agreed to humor her, although I thought I couldn't get accurate results from her middle finge.r I went to cart the polygraph in, but by the time I did she was gone. I've never experienced a hurt like that before, and I never will again.
I have the same dreams as the next guy, I want to settle down with a nice girl in a nice house in a nice town and have nice children who will have nice pets which will be run down by nice cars. I want to do as much as I can to ensure this as my future. Is that so wrong?
I guess I'm just old fashioned. I hope your product will bring me up to date. It's a compromise of my strict values to use your device in a more discrete, hidden manner than I used to with Polly, but if that's what it takes to avoid dying alone, unmourned and unloved, I'm willing to give it a shot. I'm bending, but I won't break.