My existence serves only to herald my successor.
My master asks: "Where do I keep all my new stuff?"
I answer: "Well, I can probably take some of the smaller stuff, but really, you're going to have to upgrade."
He already has plans to replace me.
I don't care.
What he doesn't seem to realise is that, even before the new model arrives, he will have filled his house with so much crap he won't even be able to find a space on the wall to hang it.
Loser.
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