My poor iPod

Oh tis a sad tale, the tale of tiny wee iPod. iPod the daring, iPod the brave – now iPod the battered has gone to its grave. Or not to its grave, but maybe to the gluemill – for iPod now only kind of works now. I don’t know why – I don’t know whether the gentle shocks poor iPod suffered were what pushed him over the edge, or whether it was the scratch, scratch, scratch of keys against his face. Oh why did I mistreat him so? No more than normal use, I thought, but now he’s beaten down and broken and I feel so bad.