Jamie the human, are you worthy to command me?

December 19, 2011

Christmas is here.
This happened. Merry Christlemas to me and/or us and to all a very happy moons!

I'm excited, of course, but also I feel dumb telling anyone I'm excited because it's a phone. But you know what? For that much money I had damn well better be excited and I'm not sorry. PARTY AT MY PHONE! UNDERPANTSERANSELARY!

My last phone, a poor pathetic dinosaur of a refurbished first-gen iphone, was dubbed the very suitable name 'The Flying Dutchman.' I say suitable because I assume there was a good reason for that decision. Ass, you, me. What was that very good reason? I can't for the life of me recall. It was obviously very meaningful and important. Something about once you pop you just can't stop? The arms that grip you down to the seas? Beware the smoking kracken that comes with the blood moon? Who knows, now I'm just making shit up. Whole minutes of googling went by and I uncovered no answers as to the name's mysterious origins so I threw the damned thing in the trash and moved on. (Not really. I did something worse, I gave it to my kid so he could do flashcards. Welcome to the 24.5th century.)

goodbye dutchman

The Flying Dutchman was a dear dear thing, precious to my heart. Not only did it allow me to blog on the go, read my RSS, talk to my friends in my pocket, and take photos– it also made me a sith lord. Now I'm not one to look a gift horse inside its face but round about a few months back my poor tired darling sort of... stopped working. I mean really, really, stopped working like an aging receptionist with the poop-pants. No buttons. No camera. Black screen. Dear Apple: There's this thing called backwards compatibility. Think about it. It was time for the Dutchman to find sleep in davy's locker and after waiting, and waiting, and waiting for our contract to expire it has now been (finally) replaced with the new and the shiny. Saturday.


(This is a weird possibly disinteresting story, but in this new-fangled technitweetsical age phones have become more than just telephones. Part of me hates to admit that my phone is pretty much my lifeline and that without its vital operation I was dying a slow death. The other part of me is already dead. I think they call that part the 'soul.')
(PS have I mentioned I'm excited and probably soulless?)

And so we welcome our new overlord.
Welcome Ancient Psychic Tandem War Elephant.
I promise I'll remember why your name is awesome.
And really, how could that need explanation at all?

ancient psychic tandem war elephant
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