Dear iPod,

But that all changed last Saturday. As you know, I like to spend my weekends pretending to be a Circuit City salesman. I don't actually work there, nor would I ever want to. I just like to put on a red polo shirt, go stand in their showroom, and give their customers bad advice. A couple weeks ago, I sold a Betamax player to a senile old lady who was shopping for her grandson. A week before that, I convinced a retarded child to throw out his X-Box and buy an Atari 2600 instead. Good times.
But as I said, last Saturday was different. Things were pretty slow at the store, so I decided to head over to the music department to check out the new gadgets, gizmos, and doohickeys. As I scanned the shelves, my eyes fixed upon you. I was hooked the moment I saw your perky little ear buds and your tight, round thumb wheel.
I climbed on top of a dusty stack of Divx machines and shouted at the top of my lungs, "IPOD, I LOVE YOU!!!" I grabbed your sexy 30-gig body and pressed it against mine, gently massaging my sensitive private parts with your video screen. Before long, you were in my pants making beautiful music for me. As the Circuit City rent-a-cop was dragging me out the rear door in handcuffs, I couldn't help but wonder if we would meet again.
As luck would have it, you were still there waiting for me when I returned the next day. I tried to hold back my emotions, but you saw right through the fake beard and glasses I wore to feign the security goons. I snatched you up, took you home, and docked you in my bedroom...where I spent the whole day stuffing you with my downloads.
iPod, you are the Apple of my eye. You ask so little, and yet give so much. You complete me. Words cannot describe the love and respect I feel for you. Won't you take my hand and join me in holy matrimony?
Eternally yours,
Mighty Dyckerson