Hey girl. Listen, you're literally my best friend so I feel like it's time for me to be honest with you about some pretty serious shit. And look, before I get into it I want to acknowledge that I expect a lot of you. You're responsible for managing my entire social life (online and IRL), you store all my selfies, and you're in charge of reminding me that I'm constantly going over on my data. That's a lot of work, I know, but I only did it to motivate you to be better —like Miranda Priestly and Anne Hathaway. And much like Anne Hathaway, you've seriously disappointed me.
Basically your face is busted AF and it's starting to fuck up my life. Like, I can't be seen with you any longer. I have an image to maintain and your fucked up cracked facade is seriously getting in the way of that. Sure, I straight up dropped you on the floor at the bar and then stepped on you but I (my parents) also paid for an OtterBox to keep you safe so what the fuck? Okay fine, so I never actually put you in the protective case because it fugly. I just wanted you to look beautiful so I sacrificed your safety for a chic unsupportive but beautiful case. But in my defense we were doing pickle backs that night and I only have so many hands.
Basically what I'm trying to say is you look like shit and everybody has noticed. My friends talk shit about you, and by extension they're talking shit about me, which is nothing new but still, I'm pissed. And not to be like, super harsh, but I have been straight up leaving you out trying to get you stolen and not even some shitty povo thief wants you. Girl, you're a mess and you're fucking useless because I can't even see what the fuck I'm typing. Also, you're a virgin who can't drive.
The bottom line here is that we can't hang out anymore. I'll probs use you like one more time to figure out where the closest apple store is and then we're fucking done. Honestly, you did this to yourself by hooking up with iCloud and making it so easy for me to get rid of you without having to lose any of my texts. But hey, don't feel too bad. You had a good run and I never blacked out and lost you which is honestly pretty huge for me. Plus when I turn you in some fat genius will fix your screen and then you'll be “refurbished” and get sent in the mail to some other betch who actually did black out and lose her phone who will have no idea that she's actually texting on my sloppy seconds.
So I guess what I'm saying is that we're over, but it could be worse. You could have been born an Android and then we would have never met at all.