My phone has decided it's my emotional support animal, gently correcting "what the f***" to "what the fudge" mid-rant like I'm a toddler who scraped his knee. Yesterday I was genuinely angry at my landlord and sent him "You absolute banana"—my phone's idea of me, apparently. He replied asking if I meant something else, which somehow made me madder than the original problem. Now I'm pretty sure my landlord thinks I communicate exclusively in fruit insults.