Insights from a Jaded Office Worker-AlphaDork DOT Com

This handsome mechanism to the left is a cellular phone. Hooligans from the streets call it a “cell phone”. Those darn thugs and their slang that doesn’t make any sense. To be more specific, this is my cell phone; a mythical device that delivers joy, sadness, olive pizzas, friendships, bill collectors, fake pregancy declarations from nutty girls that use procreation as a means of revenge and so on and so forth. I don’t have to remember numbers by heart no more because it is an extension of my brain. It’s the reason why my pants have an extra bulge. The other bulge is my dic…..tionary that I keep in my pocket just in case a table needs to be balanced. If my cell phone had a mouth I would literally feed it like a mother pelican would its young. I think about it constantly if I leave it at home. I search frantically for a charger when it goes “bzzzzblaahbeep” cause that’s the sound it makes when it’s in pain. When it rings “gzzzboombapyee” I run to it and massage my ear to hear its secrets. I pay $80 a month for it to stay alive. Come to think about it, our relationship is very one sided. It is my crack cocaine. My Frodoh ring. My uptown girl living in a widespread world. I cheated on my house phone to be with it. My hero.