Saturday, January 22, 2011

Smart-y Pants Phone

That D-roid. I pretend to be cool enough to hang with him, and, like a lovesick teen, beg him to help me understand his evil machinations. D-roid (as I call him behind his ridiculously pumped-up back--come on, who needs all those muscles?--I just need to dial 911) simply couldn't care less. When he does bother to think of me at all, it's to devise some intricate ploy to mess with me.

I took a photo of my friend's son playing basketball, shared it with her along with a voice activated text message where I clearly stated: "He missed." I hit send, looked down and saw that D-roid did it to me again:



  1. Here's one for you Dee, Terra is offering not 1, but 2 classes on using your smart phone!

  2. I won't even tell you all about a message to my MOTHER that ended up with the word "coitus" in it...really??!!