
Im sorry, I believe I have the wrong number!
An ode to the scariest weapon in the world, the cell phone in your pocket.
World leaders sell missiles cheap… Supplying anyone on the map… Used to be a chosen few… Now bundled in an app… Pocket sized super computer… Rules meant to bend… Anything that receives… Can ultimately send…
If the space shuttles systems… Were Atari like… Then our cellular phones… Could launch military strikes… Reach out and touch you… With my nuclear breath… My chemical payload… Will make you wish for death…
Video games train soldiers… And phones rot your brain… A deadly combination… Making people insane… Out of touch with you… Out of touch with me… Out of touch with the world… Yet your to blind to see…
The mark of the beast… Is right in your pocket… The launch control… Of a three stage rocket… Most will try to run… And most will die tired… Once the nuclear kiss… Has ultimately been fired…
Three dimensional printers… Can print weapon parts… Mans mechanical mind fuck… Is where it all starts… Modify old weapons… Like a killing mysticist… While I carry around… My iAstrophysicist…
We are the sole manufacturers… Of our own demise… The next step… In our digital surprise… The next attack… Won’t come from a rocket… It will come from the device… Nestled right in your pocket…
and my pocket – chriscondello
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