The Infernal GPS

"It never works, that contraption, damned it to hell! Let's just wing it." he said exhausted as they passed Grand Central Station. 49th Street couldn't be very far--noting all of the obvious landmarks--but the device was now telling them to go the wrong way down a one way street, somewhere off of Broadway.

"Beware the Ides of March, seizure!" said one of them, dejectedly, becoming more depressed when they came to realize that it was too far off, and also in the wrong direction. A tiny tear formed in their tear-duct and they began to laugh, being unable to stop for several minutes.

The accursed diode box kept mindlessly sputting out wrong directions: "Take a ninety degree angle up 56th, then right to..." and it continued to drone on in likewise manner.

Finally, he took it upon himself to right their course, to return home after the great war of navigating to the island of Manhattan: "Cover your ears...do not listen to the Sirens, for they shall dash us all upon the rocks!" and they all laughed. Next time, dramamine®. Definitely.