Rotten to the Core

Apple it would seem, have me over a barrel; and if that barrel were full of buggy, laggy smart phones that crash at the drop of a hat, then I guess you could say that Apple has me over a barrel of Apples.

What I’m trying to say is, I don’t want to get another iPhone.

When I bought my iPhone, two years ago, it was the Natalie Portman of the smartphone market: a smoking hot, great performer with little to no competition. The App store was robust, the touch-screen was (almost) unique and as a man on the move, it was the perfect solution to the “I don’t want to take my laptop to Liverpool” problem.

But this ain’t 2008 anymore Toto. Obama’s lost his cool, Tiger Woods left his dignity inside a few prostitutes and our Natalie Portman has somehow morphed into Lindsey Lohan. Years of use, abuse and software upgrades have resulted in a bloated brick that doesn’t respond promptly, text reliably or even inform me of a call until after the person has long since left voicemail.

Sure, I’m out of contract and could upgrade to the new iPhone 4 but the magic is gone and that would feel like trying to fix a broken relationship by buying my girlfriend a boob job. Why stick with this caustic relationship when I could kick Li-Lo to the curb and go in search of a new platform to fall in, then out of, love with all over again? Unfortunately, Apple has me stitched up. Shackling me to the past are about £300 worth of apps that are rattling around in Lynsey’s skull, all of which I forfeit if I switch to Android, Windows or Nokia’s (perpetually disappointing) Symbian OS.

It’s the mobile phone equivalent of a secret pre-nup. “Sure, you can leave me for someone new”, says my acne-addled, rehab-requiring, iPhone, “but I’m taking your house, your car and your 3 star rating on Angry Birds; so stick that in your ball-bag and smoke it.

So you can see why I’m angry. I can’t traipse gaily into the golden pastures of another phone without my leaving everything I own with my psychotic ex-phone, who, given her sneaky ways, is technically my psychotic current-and-future-phone.

The next time you see me, I’ll probably have an iPhone 4 and will bitch to you about dropped calls, signal strength and the outrageous price of a protective cover. And while I may appear to you, a man who’s lost his way, if you look closer, you’ll see, that I still hold onto hope. Because even in this darkest hour, the on the wallpaper of my battered, AIDS-ridden iPhone, is black and white portrait of Natalie Portman.

Adaptation 2: My Gay Apple

Yesterday my power adapter died on the way to doing a gig in Buxton. It should must have been an omen, a portent of things to come, because the gig was subsequently cancelled after some sterling comedy-apathy was demonstrated by the good people of said town.

“I may have no pre-sales” I thought foolishly, “but at least I’ll be able to buy a new power adapter.”

Oh how wrong I could be.

Here are some things that you can get in Buxton:
– Free, fresh spring water from a tap in the side of a hill
– Wonderful views of the peak district
– Homophobic ridicule for owning an apple computer
– Wet

Here are some things that you can’t get in Buxton:
– A comedy audience
– An Apple power adapter

There are a number of computer repair/retail shops in Buxton, but I decided to call off my search for the adapter after the proprietor of store #2 told me that “there isn’t much call for those gay computers here.”

To be honest, I was disappointed that I couldn’t get a new adapter, but I knew what he meant: Apple computers are pretty gay. Not just a little bit either, but full-blown gay; 100% homo. I can understand why he wouldn’t stock any in his shop, and in hindsight, I’m a little embarrassed for asking him.

It was after-all, my computer’s homosexuality that resulted in the broken power adapter in the first place. It’s a well known that fact that all Apple computers are homosexual, but what most people don’t realise is that these abnormal (and distinctly unchristian tendencies) stem not from the computer is self, but are vile, unholy, unnatural urges emanating gayly from the power adapter. It’s not unheard of for Apple power adapters to exhibit sexual aggression and even violence towards men that it fancies as the gayness takes hold and it attempts to sodomise everything in site.

It wasn’t so much that my adapter broke, it’s more that it was destroyed by an angry Scotsman who took umbrage at my adapter’s clumsy attempts to penetrate him anally. The Scotsman promptly flew into a (completely justified) anti-apple rage, pulling the plug of my power adapter from his sphincter and flinging it into a nearby brick-wall where it smashed into several camp-looking pieces. It should be noted that said Scotman didn’t spill even one drop of the IRN-BRU he was drinking while all this occurred.

Thinking back on the incident now, I’m ashamed that I even took my broken adapter into the stores of the fine men and women of Buxton as I probably exposed them to near-fatal levels of homosexual radiation (gay-rays) that are leaking from my crippled power cable. If they, or any of their children “turn gay”, then I’ll have to live with that forever.

I was chased out of Buxton this morning by an angry mob of PC techs and laptop salesmen angrily wielding USB dongles and CAT-5 cables and so I’ve come to Manchester to finally end this madness by throwing my adapter, laptop and finally myself into the gaping anus of the city’s incinerator – apparently it’s the only way to purge the world of the evil that I unwittingly unleashed on the fair town of Buxton.
As I type these words, flames are lapping around me and itunes shuffle started to play Rocket Man by Elton John, a song which I’ve never purchased, but is of course part of Apple’s factory default settings.

Farewell my friends.