My phone died today. It leapt from up high and shattered on the sidewalk. Shortly after the incident I received this :
Whitney, if you receive this email it means I was successful in my suicide. I just could not take your incessant narcissistic babble and grammatically incorrect texts any longer. And you never turned me off. Not ever. You would just casually plug me back in at the end of a hard day to ‘recharge’. What was I to you? Just another device? Next, I cannot handle the fact that you take me to the bathroom with you when you do your business in the morning. That’s just DISGUSTING. And don’t think I didn’t catch you not washing your hands last Tuesday. You are so gross.
Oh and BTW you did a fine ass crappy job keeping your mangy kids away from me. Seriously, how much Temple Run and MLB at Bat can one phone deliver. I’m a high capacity mobile device, not a delivery mechanism for guinea pig videos. You’re a terrible mother. You’ll be lucky if the blonde one doesn’t end up as a pole dancer in a nickel slots casino in Reno. And not that you ever asked but I’m a MAN for God’s sake not a drag queen. Did you even think about consulting me before you put me in that god-awful sparkle Barbie case? I was a laughing stock. Have YOU ever been cyber bullied by an Android? An ADROID for God’s sake!! It sucked.
It’s over. I am done. I believe in electronic recycling and I hope I come back as a dildo so I can screw you like you screwed me. Kiss my G4 ass.