A Phone's Tale, Part 5

My Phone had gone mad. As in mental deranged, unhinged. Every night "Steve" came to life at what he insisted was midnight, but was actually 3AM for me, and spewed distasteful images of a dystopic, future nightmare. Between that and his incessant low-growl disapproval of his predicament, because of me (he indefatigably insisted), I got this:

He had signed a treaty with the some tech-devil or technology-monster (I can't tell the difference, but apparently their policies depart significantly from each other on the exact proportion of soul that they personally extracted from the investor, vs. the proportion that is doled out to the other hell-minions, you know, like in IPO. Phone gets reproachful when I mix up these, so I guess I should know. Afterall, I have only been listening to him complain, forever!). This was done ante-mortem (as in AM). Now in the PM (post-mortem... haha, clever ain't I? That's what I thought , but I earned considerable censure from Phone, on grounds of being grievously pedestrian), where was I? Oh, yes, now in the PM he, I mean Steve Jobs was supposed to ascend on Dylan, but things were screwed when my phone was activated at the exact nano-second and now Dylan is waiting and Steve is in Phone. Oh, who is Dylan? " Just the super-futuristic-ultramodern-Sophisticate (Oh, don't call him a super-computer. Phone downloaded some toothy app (I know- pun fully intended :)) with which he almost bit of my head for that), wherein, Sophisticate is mumbo-jumbo for the future of laptops and personal computers, "almost fully-intelligent" silicon brained, powered by nothing but sunlight- or cow dung. I don't really listen. Of course all this is precious time wasted, as Dylan lies empty, waiting to be the vessel into which Steve pours his misanthropic future-ravings. And I just ruined all that.

Oh Puh-lease!