I resisted cell phones for a long time. During the fist Obama campaign I was on Stephanie Verderame's family plan, a woman once my sister on whom I flipped during the building renovations (circa 2007). Nasty flipped. I called her a cunt, and however much she yanked my apron strings, baby sister and cunt snaps a ribbon somewhere, but I am too tired to claim I am not impervious to shame.
Anyway, however briefly, I entered into a two year contract for the Apple iPhone 5c, and as you can see, Steve Jobs did not carve me a pancreatic cancer choice cut to deify him. I am going to attempt to activate the damn trinket now. What the fuck is wrong with you to believe the world is changed over a pocket data device? Jesus Christ, a martini evening of allergies and foul mood, I am going to try to make this union work, as I'll travel easier. Tom Cruise might have taken Katie's role in this baked over youth angst Stepford Wives fin de siecle as a non-compliance omen. Not sure I'm feeling well enough to tolerate snark tripe engaged in coitus.
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