Thir wis this wee lassie (and this isnae the same wee lassie fae the last story – it’s a different wan) called Rosie and she wis always glued tae her phone. Day, night, didnae matter. Always on it. Her phone wis always telling her tae fucking gee it a break but she wuldnae. And dae ye know whit? It jist had enough.
She wis oot wae her Da having a curry at the Simla n she didnae even look up fae her phone. No even once!
After a near 14 hour marathon ae flicking through the facebooks n the wan wae awe the photies n the other wan the phone (called Graham if ye wir interested) decided tae blow itsel up. Red hot, n faced wae another four hour, it went fir it.
A wee fizzle n bam Graham wis on fire. He burned the hands aff Rosie and died screaming in agony.
Rosie’s Da wis delighted, watching his daughter run aroond the restaurant wae melted hands, begging fir help.
“Serves ye right ya wee bitch. A telt ye no tae be on that hing awe the time.”
Lessons wir learned n efter that everything in the world wis it peace n nae bad hings ever happened again.