Dear Diary,
I really want the new iPhone. I want one so bad, I have dreams at night where I'm dialing up all my friends, in the middle of a Starbucks, talking really, really loud, and laughing even louder. And everyone is staring at me, thinking, "Who is that guy?", as I'm then watching Joe Dirt, the movie, on my iPhone and I'm howling and slapping my knee, enjoying myself, and accidentally knocking over someone's latte but not noticing.
Everyone is telling themselves, "I wish I had that guy's lifestyle, so carefree, so sophisticated and worldly", as I'm now snapping pictures of Starbucks patrons walking past or sitting at tables, and I'm cutting and pasting their faces onto the bodies of cats and mice and giggling hysterically as I point at my victims, tears raining from my eyes, as people are trying to read, study or perhaps attempting to enjoy a first date.
Everyone is now putting their heads in their hands, dreading their lives, wondering, "Why am I fat, ugly, with no future? And all the iPhones in the city are sold out?", as I'm now listening to Clay Aiken's latest box-set on my iPhone, singing at the top of my lungs, my eyes closed, and my iPhone ringing from all my friends calling me back, but I can't hear because Aiken is blasting in my ears, and I'm screeching out the lyrics, and my iPhone is ringing and ringing, and I'm singing and singing, and my iPhone's ringtone is the theme from Family Ties, playing the first few lines, over and over again.
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