What can YOU say in six sentences?
The way I hold you, some might think you were the hand of the good Lord, himself, or Scarlett Johansson's except you know that Scarlett's political bent gags me like a used swab at The Free Clinic (and I promise to remove her picture as soon as I get tired of looking at her or my eyes turn to dust, well, hers and Cote de Pablo's pic because you also know I'm a sucker for a pretty brunette, first and always).
You've overtaken my capacity to remember 7- and 10-digit numbers that hook you up with your Korean cousins, old-school land liners, and even provide me with a call reject feature that can shoot-out a text to the caller and we know those are fall-down funny!
You're as needy as a newborn, snuggled into your near-Kevlar case, cooing as I empty your cache, giving you at-will power feedings which requires me to be aware of socket locations, your recharging cable, and your cigarette lighter adapter in each of the cars, while ever vigilant against toilet dives, rain, and bikers' beer spills.
No longer must I give anyone the finger because you allowed me to photograph my hand posed in that position and set that pic as 'Home Screen' wallpaper so I merely have to push your "Wake Up, Sammy!" button and point your dazzling screen toward anyone deserving of my digital-distal phalanx expression of disdain, and I can shrug my shoulders and say, "HEY! The PHONE did it, OKAY!??" and then run like hell or trounce the gas pedal (unless armed).
The .wav files you blare as ringers--Woody Woodpecker, Rocky the Flying Squirrel's fanfare, Reveille and the other forty-some in your data bank--always entertain those within earshot when I'm rung-up, as the Brits say.
You give me a window to the world, text, IMs, email, mahjongg solitaire, photos of which I'm fond, Google Skymap, and 1737 mp3 files it took me forever to crunch from dust-gathering stacks of CDs so it would probably be fair for me to consider you the ultimate pacifier...except that would mean I suck, wouldn't it?