Tomorrow I'm taking the day off and doing something physical ... by that I mean I'm building my own Ipod.
Pretty sure I can do it. All the parts I need are stowed away in loose boxes and jars under the house because I never throw anything away ... not broken CD players, dead cell phones or old answering machines and never anything made by Motorola. Parts come in handy if you're not scared to see how they fit together.
My Ipod will be badder than Shaft, James Brown and Kung Fu all rolled into one. Your Ipod will see my Ipod and burp, "Daddy?"
If Spock's tricorder ever broke he'd ask to use my Ipod to get a proximity reading for probable life forms. And if Sayid had had my Ipod then Maggie would be ... well, never mind about that.
I haven't even built it yet and aready my ear buds are illegal in 37 states. The National Enquirer says my Ipod not only made Dr. Phil's hair fall out but also made Lindsay Lohan's hair turn red. And if I remember to plug in the recharger, ABC Sports is predicting my Ipod will win the Super Bowl.
Don't be surprised tomorrow if I don't answer the phone ... I think my Ipod already ate it.
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