My mom, holding me up by my armpits: I'd like a replacement.
Random Angel, looking me over: It's warranty has expired, and by our records, you've had it replaced and/or rebooted 11 times in the last six years. I'm afraid you've reached your limit for the decade.
My mom: ...Can I at least have the original model back then?
Angel, annoyed: You had it recycled. It's owned by your 4th DNA equivalent at the moment.
Mom, shaking me: What am I supposed to do with this then?
Angel: It's lease ends in October, just let it rot ma'am.