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This Worked Last Time When It Didn’t Work Last Time

January 16, 2010

How dare you, iPod? How dare you freeze on a frosty morning? How dare you dare to freeze in the middle of “On to the Next One”? Do you have a PhD in irony all of a sudden? Because quite frankly, my dear good iFriend, I spent a while in university, and I’m pretty sure that’s not even a thing.

And how dare you die on the day I discovered Hey Rosetta’s “Who Is at My Window Weeping,” the Joanna-Newsomest song I’ve heard in ever so dick-licking long? It’s fucking sublime, you useless motherfucker. It’s a cocksucking piece of art, asshole. The only thing it’s missing is a kickass harp solo, and it’s got more than enough clapping and fiddling to make up for that, believe you me.

Your job is to make sure I never become aware of how hard I’m panting as I hike up the murderous incline to the bus stop in the morning. I like to believe I’m getting fitter every day and making that hill my bitch! I like to scale that fucker as fast as I can while Biggie Smalls screams in my ear about how he has no qualms about robbing and strangling women! Affirmative-action gangbanging! That’s a great start to my day! That kind of feeling lingers for a solid couple hours and sends me strutting into manuscript critique seminars with confidence! I am in no way interested in knowing that with every step I take I sound a little more like an emphysematous 80-year-old! In no way!

Your job is to facilitate my ability to walk down Robson Street on a Saturday afternoon without getting homicidal about being surrounded by infinity goddamn thousand people, many of whom walk at a pace that can only be described as palaeozoic.

Cinnamon cocks!

iPod, you are a tremendous disappointment. Since your infancy I have nourished you with the finest musicians and rockin’est albums. You have always been healthy and well-rounded. You could have belonged to some douchey Nickelback fan, or one of those ignorant twits & twats who think there hasn’t been any good music since the year they turned 15, or one of the mazillions of people who intentionally or inadvertently (there’s no practical difference) don’t listen to female singers. Can you imagine life without Corin Tucker and Neko Case? I would die first and I raised you to feel the same. I have loved you and respected you and needed you from the moment I brought you home. All I have asked in return was that you comport yourself as an iGentleman and an iScholar. And now when I plug you into a USB port with all the intimate gentle softness of [no, nobody wants to read that], you have the gall to freeze while displaying the following message on your illuminated window:

Do Not Disconnect.

You should talk, iFuckface.

I am at your window weeping…

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