Am I the asshole?

My Defective Apple Battery Case

Somebody needs to pay!

Last year, my brother Conroy upgraded his iPhone through work and gave me his old phone: an iPhone 11 Pro Max.

He also included the Apple battery case he had bought because it didn’t fit his new phone.

The case and the phone work great. It’s fast enough, gets all the new updates and thanks to the case, the battery lasts like two days.

However, none of this excuses the fact that after two years, the case has begun to disintegrate.

As you can see from the pictures, the rubbery plastic is breaking apart in key places. It looks terrible. I have like $1500 worth of phone equipment in my pocket and it looks worse than one of those Android phones they throw in for free when you sign up with Metro PCS.

Obviously, this is my brother’s fault and he needs to replace it right away, either with a brand new phone or (if he wants to be a jerk,) a new case.

He has yet to reach out and make amends and this is why I am airing my grievances in a more public forum.

Before you rush to his defense and point out that it was impossible for him to even know it was broken because this is the first time that I am bringing it up, let me stop you in your tracks and ask if you would be so gung-ho for “Team Conroy” if you knew that he was a murderer?

That’s right, a murderer. He murdered people.

Do I have your attention now?

When we were growing up, my family had a small house on a lake in Rhode Island. We used to spend every summer there and we would swim and boat and bike all over and around the lake.

There was a group of kids our age and together we formed what you would now call a ‘gang.’

So one day the ‘Angels of Satan’s Butthole,’ as we called ourselves, were biking around the lake, through a public campground.

We used to play harmless pranks on the campers, like pulling up their tent stakes, knocking over their bikes and throwing firecrackers on dried pine needles to start 400 acre fires.

Subsequently, we got banned from the premises for these good-natured shenanigans and we set about plotting my revenge.

Naturally, our first thought was that it would be funny to let some piranha loose right into the swimming area of the campground, but you can’t import an invasive species like piranha into the state of Rhode Island — not if they’re alive anyway.

There is a little-known law to accommodate ethnic groups that eat these fish as part of their diet that says they can be imported alive, as long as they are gassed and leave the fish market dead.

Luckily, anything can be arranged in Rhode Island as long as you ‘know a guy,’ so with the help of my friend’s Uncle Rick, we were able to release 15 red-bellied piranha into the Burlingame Campground swim area in the dead of night.

Contrary to our knowledge of cartoons and the Jungle Cruise ride at Disneyland, these fish are not as impressive in real life as you might think.

Plus they are a warm weather fish, best suited to the Amazon river basin and not the chilly waters of Rhode Island.

The thought was that a few people would get their toes nibbled, the fish would die and that would be the end of it — and it was.

Hardly the work of a highly-organized criminal syndicate like the papers reported.

The reason the papers were reporting on anything is because I lied just then and a bunch of people did get killed. Remember the part about my brother being a no-good murderer who should buy me a new phone?

Thanks to global warming, that summer was one of the hottest ever and the water temperature of the lake was right around 88 degrees — just like the piranha like it.

Also, on their trip up from South America, nobody had thought to feed these stupid fish, so they were starving and hungry for blood.

It turns out that children are full of blood, but how could we have known that?

So there were 26 people dead, the police and the FBI were questioning everybody on the lake and CNN set up a satellite dish on Uncle Rick’s lawn to update the public on any new developments. Worse yet, our summer was ruined. That’s right: no swimming, no boating allowed.

If that wasn’t bad enough, a local cop had quickly zeroed in on the Hell’s buttholes or whatever I said we were called earlier.

Detective Frank Jarvis was a 24 year veteran of the force and I guess he had a boner over finally being able to act like a real cop and not just hand out tickets for drinking on the beach.

We were just young kids, we had our futures to think of, so I decided he had to go.

Piranha got us into this situation, so naturally, piranha were going to get us out.

We did some recon on Jarvis and noticed he liked to get home late at night and swim in his pool. He left the lights off because he was quiet about it, so he wouldn’t wake his kids.

That made it easy to sneak over to the side of the pool and drop a Hefty bag full of these beauties in with him while he was doing laps.

Then it was just a matter of pulling the solar cover over the pool so he couldn’t escape and try in vain to block out the screams of a man getting eaten alive by hundreds of swimming, vicious carnivores.

I told you my brother was a sick fuck, but you were all “oh why can’t you just buy your own battery case?”

I mean, this monster knew what I was up to the whole time and he didn’t speak up once. How many lives could have been saved if he just had the bravery to take a stand against someone he knew was acting immorally?