Dang gummit! Itâ€™s a gettinâ€™ soâ€™s a man canâ€™t make a decent phone call nowadays. Why am I so peeved and perturbed yer askinâ€™? Wull, itâ€™s all this damned technology. Used ta be that an ole prospector could make a decent call, yâ€™know, ta check the price oâ€™ gold and whatnot. Yes, the phones were bulkier than the teats on a well fed whore, but at least they worked! Now, well, I canâ€™t even look at my phone wrong without it droppinâ€™ a call faster than the hands of a fellar caught pickinâ€™ his nose.
And dammit if I canâ€™t never git my email when I need it. An ole prospectorâ€™s got ta keep in touch with the world. I swears, if I miss another Groupon deal Iâ€™m gonna down right mess the bed! And howâ€™s Iâ€™m supposed ta sleep at night without findinâ€™ out who’s was kicked off Dancing With the Stars?
Besides, all my huffinâ€™ and puffinâ€™ and blood boilinâ€™ gets Lucy all worked up into a lather. Poor girl. It ainâ€™t her fault these blamed iWhatevers canâ€™t be held a certain ways or that a nearby peak is blockinâ€™ the dang-blasted signal. I mean, we put fellars in space and we found a cure fer the plague. Youâ€™d think with all them well-to-do smarty pants we could figure out how ta design a phone that donâ€™t drop calls.
Mule droppings is what it is! And ifâ€™n thereâ€™s an app for that and everythinâ€™ else under the sun, why ainâ€™t there one for preventinâ€™ the person on the other end from soundinâ€™ like theyâ€™s being choked by some school marm whose petticoats are wound too tight?
Anyways, Lucyâ€™s lookinâ€™ at me awful odd right now what with my cussing and carryinâ€™ about. Sheâ€™s mighty sensitive, yâ€™know and I best not git her too worked up as we got us a formal affair to attend later. Wull, it was good talkinâ€™ to ya kind folk. Itâ€™s not often an ole prospector like myself gits some company. Seems like the only folk willinâ€™ to talk anymore only want to sell me that Viagra concoction.
Wull, Iâ€™ll talk to ya later. Be sure ta keep the badgers off.