My compadre, my bosom buddy, my one true friend has left for that great big trash heap in the sky. Yes, my Motorola is dead, and with it, perhaps symbolically, the era of the flip-phone. What we once thought of as an innovation, the likes of which the people of Earth had never seen save in the wildest dreams of Ben Franklin, has now become a thing of antiquity.
A sample of Ben Franklin's wildest dreams
This was something I'd seen coming for a long time now. When the buttons on the phone starting giving out, I knew that in a matter of a few months my phone would surely be begging for the sweet release of death. "Remove my battery!" it would say. When the front display crapped out, I realized that I needed to start thinking about the future. What would life be like without the phone? Should I buy a new phone and, if so, how soon after the funeral? I don't want to be insensitive after all.
And then, last night at 9:26 p.m. MST, an explosion of color appeared across the screen. The cancer had taken over entirely. Is this the little phone I carried? I thought to myself (also, these are oddly close to the lyrics of "Sunrise, Sunset," which is a total coincidence). The doctors did all they could but, in the end, they finally convinced me that it's not their job to fix phones and that I should leave the emergency room before they called the cops.
So technically my phone's not dead, but we're pulling the plug anyway because it's a registered SIM card donor and I need to make some calls to a bunch of fine ladies!
With this in mind, next week I'll be showing you all how to destroy the cold dead husk of your old cell phone!
Until then, RIP Motorola flip-phone, Whenever-Yesterday.