The internet has brought us Angry Birds that are slung
through the air at a structure in order to demolish it (this explanation is
brought to you by the last person on earth that doesn’t have this app on
her phone – namely, me!)
Recently though, I have been contacted by a number of angry persons and inanimate objects (which shall be named later…actually they’re named in the next paragraph, so keep on reading) that would also like to sling some things at their targets. So here are my suggestions for some new Angry apps:
Recently though, I have been contacted by a number of angry persons and inanimate objects (which shall be named later…actually they’re named in the next paragraph, so keep on reading) that would also like to sling some things at their targets. So here are my suggestions for some new Angry apps:
The Angry
Politicians app: where
empty words are flung at each other in an attempt to destroy their opponent’s
credibility. There needs to be a pill to
make this app go away. I guess it is
called a remote.
The
Angry Fliers app: where
customers fling their suitcases at the CEOs of the various airlines (except
Southwest where fliers fling kisses). And then they are made to sit in coach
for 6 hours next to a crying, vomiting baby.
The Angry
Toilets app: where
commodes fling all the items that aren’t supposed to be flushed at the people
who don’t comply with the signs asking them not to flush anything except toilet
paper.
The Angry
Feet app: where tootsies fling the ridiculously high heeled shoes
at the designers who created this trend.
Perhaps, just perhaps, my anger on this point is more jealousy because
if I tried to walk in them I would end up on the sidewalk on my ass? No, I think it is just about the pain.
The Angry
Drivers app: where
drivers who don’t text while driving fling their phones, fingers, liter etc. at
those who do.
And finally
The
Angry App Developer app: where
my loyal followers fling money at me for spending a good portion of today
coming up with ideas for apps that someone hasn’t already thought of while I’m sitting
on the toilet in my high heel shoes watching political ads before I have to get
in my car dodging text-maniac drivers who are on their way to the airport. Now where is my remote?
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