This is the story of how I, Frank Burgstein,

That's right, every single person in the world has an iphone and a son names Jobs. I had Apple put the new Cupertino campus aside and move to The Vatican. Its good to be the Pope.

Pope Bob loved to be hilarious. So he snuck out to buy an iPhone from a son named Jobs. For Bob was the only one who didn't have an iPhone. He had a secret desire to text. Text

text text, texting until he dropped. When he died, they had to pry his phone out of his cold, dead hands. The texts were every bit as weird as they were inane: "u r my bff lol"

A statue was erected in his honour. He was posthumously called the greatest texting author that ever lived. People would recite his "rotlmao bbl u r l8" for crowds

by texting the message on a jumbo tron. It was during one of these texting festivals that I actually met my wife. Well, actually, I injured her and then we met.

To be accurate I injured her reputation by tweeting about her on the jumbotron. She tricked me into joining her in a shipping container. The marriage was forced. My co-husbands all

sympathized with me. How could some so beautiful on the outside, be so ugly within? Thanks to social media I had my revenge. Or so I thought! Woman have an godly intuition....shit

hit the fan when she saw what I had posted on FoldingStory about her.Yes this is a thinly disguised tale, a parable really because BOY did I learn my lesson! She finished the story

I was grounded, for the next 9 months... I hate my parents