“Now It Can Be Sold” by Drinkmore Stout
Dear Sir, pathetic sir, lonely sir,
You are an experiment by the Creator of Apple. You are the only person left in the World who is literate and has the ability to communicate beyond grunting. You are the only one left who has the ability to have any kind of interpersonal relationship. Everyone else is illiterate, can no longer make eye contact and cannot communicate verbally or in writing.
You are stressed out, lonely, and depressed. Of course it’s annoying being the only one left in the World who is not connected by two plastic strings to a small piece of white plastic.
You are surrounded by a World of iPods. iPod Shuffles, iPod Nanos, iPod U2 Editions, iPods with television, iPods with 30 GB, iPods with 60 GB. Their only purpose is to doom the World to a new generation which does not read, does not converse, does not promote art or culture and which does not think or feel—just like an 8-track player.
The Creator of Apple would now like to apologize for single-handedly causing the demise of newspapers across the country, the closure of public libraries, the end of Broadway, and the dumbing down of a cross-generation of children, parents, and grandparents by sucking in consumers one by one until they were all attached by the two thin wires to a small, white, overpriced piece of plastic that plays single songs and, more recently, reruns of Lost and Desperate Housewives. The Creator of Apple committed these atrocities with one purpose in mind. To sell one to