My MBP made me 3" taller and 2" longer, 50 pounds lighter and 100 points smarter. Women want to be me, they regularly get sex changes to achieve this. At night while I sleep in my leopard skin sheets on my waterbed in my black velvet wallpapered room,, my MBP turns tricks, paying for my crib (that is what makes it a pro, it doesn't just give the **** away for free. Granted sometime I think it tries to cheat me, but a few slaps and the money comes pouring out). My MBP knows what I am thinking before I do. In fact I didn't type this, it wrote it for me when I looked at it out of the corner of my eye and grunted, the sweat turning my tank top yellow the condensation on my beer dampening my jockey shorts. It codes on its own, flawlessly releasing memory in even the most tricky of pointers, managing several applications at once. When I am too hung over, it goes out and takes photos of super models for me, creating lighting that is spot on perfect to reveal their luscious breasts and wanton desire for me. And because it is asexual, it lets me take them all on when I stumble groggily into the studio. It transforms into a Mini clubman when I want to feel responsible but hip, a f-350 when I need to haul my balls around, and an Indian Scout when Just need to cruise. It built my house for me, designing it from the ground up, it is a beautiful place, even if it took that white and chrome look a wee bit too far. Presidents consult me to write viruses to defeat invading aliens, I manage dinosaur theme parks with it, armies of changeling robots think I am in control because of it, I solved the murder of my best friend using it, unravelled all the efforts of the illuminati with its keyboard, founded multi-billion dollar corporations with its "airport extreme."
