Transcription of Mr. Angel's personal listening devices, set up in his office, transcription number 1394026 of 4567732. Transcriptionist would like it noted that she is not sure about a few of the sounds found on the audio, and has transcribed them according to the best of her knowledge and abilities. Transcriptionist would also like it noted that company cell phones should come with instruction manuals, like normal cell phones do, in order to cut down on confusion.

Transcription as follows:

Undetermined: (buzz)

Angel: What now?

Undetermined: (rustling, beep of something electronic)

Angel: Text message? I don't even know what that is.

Undetermined: (buzz)

Angel: Shit! Why does it keep doing that? Okay, two text messages . . . let's see . . . open?

Undetermined: (electronic beep)

Angel: Ah ha! Okay, now, what . . . Spike. I should have known. "And your hair is stupid." Huh. That doesn't make sense.

Undetermined: (buzz)

Angel: How do I get out of this thing?

Undetermined: (electronic beeping, buzz)

Desk Phone: (beep)

Angel: Harmony! My phone's buzzing again!

Harmony: I told you, boss, that's because it's on vibrate.

Angel: Well, why does it keep buzzing?

Harmony: Is someone calling you?

Angel: I don't know! I can't figure out how to--

Undetermined: (buzz)

Angel: AAAAARRRGH! Harmony, send Fred in here! She knows how to work one of these things, right?

Harmony: Um, I think so. Hang on, bossy.

Angel: Don't call me 'bossy'!

Harmony: Oh, right. Sorry, Mr. Angel!

Desk Phone: (beep)

Undetermined: (buzz)

Undetermined: (clatter)

Angel: I give up! I don't get it. How is this helpful? How are these cursed little thing even remotely useful? It's like some incomprehensible dead language, only in a box that buzzes. I hate cell phones!

Undetermined: (buzz)

Angel: Oh boy! There it goes again! Why does it keep doing that?

Undetermined: (knock)

Winifred Burkle (here after referred to as "Fred"): Angel?

Angel: Fred! Come in!

Undetermined: (door opens, closes)

Fred: What's the trouble, Angel?

Angel: It's that damned cell phone they're making me use!

Fred: Well, let me see. Maybe I can figure it out for you?

Angel: That was the general idea, yes.

Fred: Where is it?

Angel: I threw it over there when it wouldn't stop buzzing.

Fred: Okay, see, that's not going to help.

Angel: I know. It kept buzzing anyway.

Fred: Throwing it won't make it stop buzzing, Angel. You have to--oh, text messaging. Well no wonder you were confused. It looks like you've never used that option before now. Okay, let's see . . . oh, six unopened messages. Okay, see, this is easy. I'll show you. Hit this button, and you get to your inbox, like with email, only on your phone.

Angel: Oh, that's how you get out of the message.

Fred: Yeah. Now, you're in your inbox, and you should probably read these in order, so here we go. First message, from Spike. "Hi you great pouf, I just got a cell phone and thought I'd annoy you, just because I can, so I am. Ha. Bet this drives you nuts. You bloody hate technology more than you hate being a vampire. You're a big stubborn ass. And you're fat."

Angel: Yes, that would be Spike.

Fred: Okay then. Does he say things like that a lot?

Angel: More than you'd ever guess.

Fred: Hmm. Second message, you already opened. Says "And your hair is stupid."

Angel: Yeah, got that one. Makes more sense after the first message.

Fred: Third message, "I'm surprized you haven't called to defend your hair and your fat ass yet."

Angel: Yeah, well, I would have, except I couldn't figure out how to work the damn phone.

Fred: Here try this one yourself. Just push that button there.

Undetermined: (buzz)

Angel: Oh crap! It buzzed again!

Undetermined: (clatter)

Fred: Stop that! I told you not to throw it! What would you do if it broke?

Angel: Be very happy. In fact, I'd probably throw it a party for never being able to bother me again.

Fred: Hmm . . . if you're serious, keep throwing. You'll make Lorne one happy camper.

Angel: On second thought . . .

Fred: I thought so. Okay, now press that button. Good.

Angel: Spike says "I'm hungry and bored. Want to play kitten poker or something?"

Fred: Kitten poker?

Angel: Yeah, it's a demon thing. Spike was a little more into it than most vampires are.

Fred: Oh. What happens to the kittens?

(pause)

Fred: Never mind. I don't think I want to know. If you push that button, you can get back to your inbox.

Angel: Hey, that worked.

Fred: I know. Okay, now push that button, then that one. Now you can read your next message.

Angel: "Why aren't you answering? Are you ignoring me? I'm hurt, you ruddy bastard, go screw yourself."

Fred: He's not a very nice person when he isn't around humans, is he?

Angel: Spike is not a very nice person in general. Don't know how he got you fooled.

Fred: Okay, see if you can get back to the inbox by yourself.

Undetermined: (clicking of keys, frustrated grunt)

Angel: What did I do?

Fred: I'm not sure, hang on . . .

Undetermined: (more clicking)

Fred: Ah, there we go. Here, why don't I just sort out this texting thing?

Angel: Fine by me.

Fred: Okay, so now Spike says, "Hey, I bet you aren't answering because you don't now how to work the texting feature on your cell. Ponce!" Hey, that was almost civil.

Angel: Yes, which is a miracle in and of itself.

Fred: Okay, so after that we have, "Poncey git! Call Fred or something! Can't believe you don't know how to work a bloody cell phone! Not like it's rocket science! Just hit a few buttons and there you go! Honestly, can't believe you're a big enough idiot not to know how to work one of these things. Then again, your head always was exceptionally thick, wasn't it, thick head?"

Angel: And there goes civil.

Fred: Last one, now. "Betcha don't know where I am! I'll even give you a clue. 'Angelmobile.'" Angelmobile?

Undertermined: (chair sliding across floor, elevator doors opening)

Angel: He's stealing my car.

Fred: Your car? Which one?

Angel: The old one, from before. The one I actually own.

(elevator doors close)

Undetermined: (buzz)

Fred: "Dear Fred, Angel's a bleeding git, but I'm not dumb enough to steal his car, or deface it in any way, so don't worry. Teach him how to text for me, yeah? Oh, and I'd recommend not being in the office when we come through in about five minutes. Could be for mature viewers only. Violence and all that. See you in the lab later. We'll have lunch, or something. Love and kisses, Spike." Oh dear.

End transcription.