No matter how hard I scrub it away. It always returns, like some kind of vengeful ectoplasm clinging to my device. Why won't it just fuck off and leave me alone? I mean, seriously, what the hell is this shit? I've tried wiping it with alcohol swabs, microfiber cloths, even spit on my sleeve like some kind of animal. But every time I pull my phone out of my pocket or set it down on a table, there it is again—this gross, greasy film that makes me feel like I'm handling something that's been rolling around in a dumpster. It's not even subtle; it's like the phone is actively conspiring to humiliate me by constantly reminding me of its disgusting secretions. And don't even get me started on how it attracts every speck of dust and lint within a five-mile radius. I'm starting to think this phone is just a sentient blob of mucus with delusions of grandeur. Fuck you, phone. Fuck you and your endless supply of slime.