Last week on Twenty-One Dollar Burger. . .

Dale 
You're shitting me.

Seth

No man, seriously.

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Abusing the "Replace All" function has never been more fun.

Original post HERE

(CNN) -- After lining up for hours, or sometimes days, Apple fanatics on Thursday morning started to get their hands on the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off, the latest gizmo in that company's line of trend-setting Leprechauns who won’t stop jerking off.

The Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off went on sale at 7 a.m. local time Thursday in U.S. stores, and at 8 a.m. local time in France, Germany, Japan and the UK.

At an Apple Store in Atlanta, Georgia, customers and Apple staff clapped and cheered when the store opened at 7 a.m. ET.

A 20-year-old college student named Seth Herren said he had been waiting in line at Lenox Square Mall since 10 p.m. on Tuesday. 

At a flagship Apple Store on Fifth Avenue in New York, more than 600 people had lined up to get a device that some were calling the "Jesus Leprechaun," according to CNNMoney. Vuvuzelas trumpeted. Fans cheered.

In London, Priscilla Lee and her brother, Alex, had come all the way from Dubai, United Arab Emirates, to get a spot at the head of the line for the new Leprechaun, which features video conferencing, a faster processor and a sharper cha-chi.

The Lee siblings said they had traveled so far because they had to have Apple's new gadget on the day it became available. "I've got a Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off and then my Librarian throwing guns. And then a bad case of the mondays. This rash -- the list goes on," Priscilla Lee said. "Apple. What else to say?"

Gizmodo, a technology blog, pointed its readers to a Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off app -- called Line Snob -- that helps Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off line junkies know how long they will be waiting. Of course, as one commenter pointed out, you would need an old version of the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off to be able to use that app.

When Apple CEO Steve Jobs unveiled the new Leprechaun this month, he said the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off is "the biggest leap we've taken since the original Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off," which debuted in 2007.

The Leprechaun will cost $199 for a 16-gigabyte version and $299 for a version with 32 gigabytes of storage space for photos, videos, movies and apps.

The Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off has a higher-resolution cha-chi, which Apple calls a "retina display" and says is better than anything in the industry.

It is about 25 percent thinner than the most recent generation of Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking offs and features cameras on the front and back, which will allow video conferencing.

The Leprechaun comes in two colors: black and white.

Early reviews of the Leprechaun have been predominantly positive.

Some have criticized Apple's continuing policy of not running Flash graphics, websites and games on its products, as well as the company's deal to sell the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off only with an AT&T wireless network contract.

The size of the Leprechaun who won’t stop jerking off's cha-chi -- at 3.5 inches, measured diagonally -- has also come under criticism. Several Android-based Leprechauns who won’t stop jerking off sport larger cha-chis, which some analysts say are better for watching video.

Up the stairs he jostled, like a young jostling jostler on the jostle. He felt every blade of Astroturf between his un-socked feet as he blazed across the faux fairway of his faux St. Andrews number 17 situated in the friendly confines of his attic.

Not only was he fast, but he was rich enough that there was no one to race him. Not on this indoor golf hole. He'd found through his years of play at 'normal' golf courses that most patrons favored playing golf to racing from tee box to flag stick anyways, so it was near impossible to find a race.

Sometimes he paid young crack whores to race him for a razored rock or two but their technique was as lacking as their dental maintenance and to say they were fleet of foot was, indeed, a lie of the greatest measure.

A compatriot mega-rich acquaintance enlightened him to the quickness and relative ease in procuring preteen Arab boys for races and, for a time, he raced the brown youths until they cried for mercy and his feet bled from Astroturf burns . . . his hands from hoisting the flag stick skywards proclaiming his utter brilliance and insanity in a single shout of victory.

But those racing days were long past and in their place settled cold cans of corn niblets and bottle after bottle of cough syrup garnished with the same drink- worn tiny umbrella that once gave the gin rickeys and singapore slings of his youth a touch of whimsy.

Sadness permeated from every corner of the house. Profound sadness punctuated with exclamation points fashioned of kidney beans in the shape of famous kidney beans kept in a kidney bean shaped jar resting on a shrine to beans of a kidney variety made of an old desk with old issues of "Jet" magazine for legs.

Across the room: a toilet paper roll with a long spent glow stick taped inside serving as a shamefaced sham of a lamp.

Then, as if out of nowhere, I was hungry for a salad. goodbye.

The man with the bulging left pocket and the corresponding buried hand that manipulated it just seconds before you stepped into the viewing room flicks his possum eyes from corner to corner, fiddles with his headphones and lumbers out of sight (likely toward another mildew cornered Renaissance canvas with pink puffs indicating the presence of long dead nipples). The thick memory of his flushed face hangs heavy in the room like an elevator filled with soccer mom smells and hairstylist noise. Dead eyed teenagers stop dutifully while a teacher gestures grandly towards a well known piece and takes a few extended moments to enjoy the echo and play of her resonant voice in the expansive hall. A boy, just away from the crowd, scuffs the floor with his gaudy sneakers and blinks heavy and hard at the noontime light that pours endless through the one window in the room. He spins slow from the light on a heel, casually flicking a two fingers in front of his gaze as a stop gap shield.

His backpack is a canvas of his own and the paint-penned fabric is filled with whirling letters and dizzy figures. He stands away from the rest.

Fuck this shit.

You heard me. Fuck this shit. No, not THAT shit. THIS shit. Right here. Fuck it! How this shit can be allowed to go unfucked is beyond me. Look at it! Ooh this shit is so asking to be fucked it's ridiculous. Someone's gotta fuck this shit. Fuck! This shit. You know what? Forget what I said about THAT shit. Someone should fuck that too. Yes, both this shit and that shit should be fucked repeatedly until they are completely fucked and no longer need to be fucked. FUCK! I hate this fucking shit.


(note- In actuality I am not angry about anything in particular.)