Dock-related royalty and the Professor's coconut phone
So yesterday me and a couple of guys from rowing were out playing "King of the Dock", a gladitorial bloodsport where we all stand on the dock at 65th street and savagely beat each other to the brink of death whilst trying to throw each other into the water like a band of rabid monkey pirates. The last living man standing on the dock wins bragging rights, until everyone else gangs up and beats him to a bloody pulp the next round. Remember, when ten guys get together, ALL activities will inevitably end in bloodshead and blinding pain. Including this one.
I was actually doing pretty well, until this two-hundred-and-something pound monster bodychecked me full-speed right in the gut. You had to see it, man, I fucking flew right off of the damn dock faster than a dead baby hogtied to a turbojet engine locked on afterburner. As I hit the water, the ensuing aquatic explosion completely decimated my cellphone, which I accidentally left in the back pocket of my boardshorts. Oops. The impact busted up the little LCD screen thing, which shattered and started leaking this radioactive toxic goo shit all over my pants. Upon further inspection, the phone looked like it had been sitting at ground-zero during a commie nuclear warhead test. It was just...dead. Pfft. Not cool. So what did I do? Well, today I went to the Sprint store, to go beg for a replacement phone. A free replacement, may I add.
So dad and I assaulted the Sprint store, mumbling something about "Warranty" and "Lifetime Guarantee" and using all of our Jedi mind powers to force the peon behind the counter to give us a free phone to replace the one I had completely demolished the day before. After about 30 minutes of spineless begging, we managed to trick the already confused troglodyte into giving us a free replacement phone, a Sanyo something-or-another 4700. I thought "Ooooh, 4700 is a big number...it must be a really cool cell phone!" Wrong. The Sanyo 4700 is a totally suck ass phone. It dosen't have a color display, a camera, or any other neat shit like that. Plus, the reception is so bad it sounds like whoever you are listening to is speaking to you from a transistor radio located in the middle of a blizzard while a miniature version of Mr. T. is furiously beating the inner reaches of your ear canal. My guess is that the trolls down at Sanyo R&D decided to reverse engineer the advanced technology behind two tin cans connected by string into a large brick just to piss me off. Now I'm stuck with this phone unless I decide to pay for an upgrade, because, in my dad's words "Its your own damn fault, son." And I ain't payin for no upgrade.
Oh well. I figure if I only had 10,000 of these brick phones and a shitload of glue I could possibly build some sort of bunker or bomb shelter or house or something.
I'm still hurting all over from King of the Dock, anyway. I scraped up my knuckles and elbows, I have a pancake-sized bruise on my right arm, and I think I need a new kidney after being bodychecked by Alex "The Beast". I'm lucky though - one guy tore open his foot on a rusty nail, and another dude banged his face on the side of the dock. Ah...good times...
I was actually doing pretty well, until this two-hundred-and-something pound monster bodychecked me full-speed right in the gut. You had to see it, man, I fucking flew right off of the damn dock faster than a dead baby hogtied to a turbojet engine locked on afterburner. As I hit the water, the ensuing aquatic explosion completely decimated my cellphone, which I accidentally left in the back pocket of my boardshorts. Oops. The impact busted up the little LCD screen thing, which shattered and started leaking this radioactive toxic goo shit all over my pants. Upon further inspection, the phone looked like it had been sitting at ground-zero during a commie nuclear warhead test. It was just...dead. Pfft. Not cool. So what did I do? Well, today I went to the Sprint store, to go beg for a replacement phone. A free replacement, may I add.
So dad and I assaulted the Sprint store, mumbling something about "Warranty" and "Lifetime Guarantee" and using all of our Jedi mind powers to force the peon behind the counter to give us a free phone to replace the one I had completely demolished the day before. After about 30 minutes of spineless begging, we managed to trick the already confused troglodyte into giving us a free replacement phone, a Sanyo something-or-another 4700. I thought "Ooooh, 4700 is a big number...it must be a really cool cell phone!" Wrong. The Sanyo 4700 is a totally suck ass phone. It dosen't have a color display, a camera, or any other neat shit like that. Plus, the reception is so bad it sounds like whoever you are listening to is speaking to you from a transistor radio located in the middle of a blizzard while a miniature version of Mr. T. is furiously beating the inner reaches of your ear canal. My guess is that the trolls down at Sanyo R&D decided to reverse engineer the advanced technology behind two tin cans connected by string into a large brick just to piss me off. Now I'm stuck with this phone unless I decide to pay for an upgrade, because, in my dad's words "Its your own damn fault, son." And I ain't payin for no upgrade.
Oh well. I figure if I only had 10,000 of these brick phones and a shitload of glue I could possibly build some sort of bunker or bomb shelter or house or something.
I'm still hurting all over from King of the Dock, anyway. I scraped up my knuckles and elbows, I have a pancake-sized bruise on my right arm, and I think I need a new kidney after being bodychecked by Alex "The Beast". I'm lucky though - one guy tore open his foot on a rusty nail, and another dude banged his face on the side of the dock. Ah...good times...