Smart phone my ass

Back In August I got a new phone. I was sick of everyone talking trash about my useless Motorola that didn’t do anything but be a phone. And not a very good phone at that.

As someone who knows nothing of technology, I sought the help of others as to what kind of phone I should purchase. I found that the more someone knew about technology, the more that person was against iPhones. These people recommended HTC. These people should be shot. In the face. With a bazooka that shoots cream pies.

After months of grief and attempts to find out why my phone sometimes decided it just plain didn’t want to work, I’ve finally accepted defeat and had it sent off to be looked at. For the next three weeks I’m stuck with my old brick. It pains me to say it, but I don’t think I’m going to survive.

How am I supposed to check the weather? By going outside and feeling the temperature of the air on my skin? By looking out the window like a fool? No thank you, sir.

How am I supposed to prove to everyone that I’m right all the time without being able to Google whatever it was that we’ve just been arguing about?

How can I check that big words mean what I think they mean without my dictionary.com app?

How am I supposed to tag myself at every place I go to so people can see how awesome I am? I’ve had to go back to checking Facebook on the computer like people did in the olden days, when computers took up entire rooms and were made of wood and twine.

And most importantly, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE WITHOUT MY DOCTOR WHO RINGTONES?

Anyway, I’m off to build a giant slingshot, capture some birds and launch them at flimsy structures full of pigs I’ve painted green. I have an addiction and my needs must be met.