Traded in my silver platter for an empty plastic tray
Yeah. Firewater. Yeah. And my CD player is working again. I don't know what it is with me and electronic equipment. Every once in a while my CD player stops working. It just decides not to work for a few days. Like, sorry dude, I'm on vacation. Ditto for my RealAudio and mp3 players. Sometimes they're loving me and sometimes they give me the old whatever bold italic. Like, hello, dude, you are a piece of electronic equipment. You are not entitled to vacations. You are my slave. You must respond to my whims. Your only mission is to please. But no. Not my CD player. Oh no. He just ups and takes the day off, no matter what I'm doing or how much I need him. Sorry, honey, I have a headache. Like, dude, you are a discman, don't even go there with me. He stuck with me throughout reading period, while I wrote an intensely pretentious paper on Feminist Political Theory, and then abandoned me for exams. Which was particularly mocking considering that my main exam was in MUSIC. So I had to go listen to all the pieces in my friend Manny's room, on his CD player. And the other thing is, he's totally in league with my RealAudio player. Cos they take vacations together. They quit at the same fucking time. Leaving me with only my mp3 player, which as far as I can tell is a paranoid schizophrenic and furthermore totally undependable. So there I am, trying desperately not to fail out of school, and my discman is lounging around in Barbados with my RealAudio player in one of those skimpy little European bathing suits, and I'm spending all my fucking time counseling my mp3 player, like I had nothing better to do or something. And now that exams are over, here's my discman, back again, revived, rejuvenated, and ready once again to add healthy moisture to dry indoor air.
But the truth is, I still love you Judas.