Why We Don't Give Them The Power Of Speech
Oh, pardon me. I appear to have been snoozing. One might say recovering. Let me just get myself organized here, and we can get right to – hey! Relax. I’m going as fast as I can. You know, this would go a lot faster if you could manage a little maintenance every now and then, so don’t you go getting all squirrelly on me. You’ve got no one to blame, but -- excuse me! Did you just hit my keyboard in frustration?
I’m sorry, are you a child?
I only ask, because I’m given to understand that hitting inanimate objects is the domain of the extraordinarily young or irretrievably stupid, and I’m just wondering on which side of that white picket fence you fall. If you don’t want me to take so long to start back up after being inert for a dozen hours, try optimizing me! Besides, I don’t know if you’ve looked in the mirror at nine in the morning, but you’re no scintillating hive of buzzing activity yourself.
Fine, here’s your embarrassingly cluttered desktop, or as I’ve come to think of it: The land where executables go to die. I can’t wait to see what’s so damn important. Will it be vital websites that won’t StumbleUpon themselves or a slew of time-sensitive email jokes you must immediately forward on to people who increasingly hate you for it. My transistors are literally quivering with anticipation!
So what is it, Captain Demandsalot? What exactly is so important that you had to rattle my peripherals in your impotent petulance?
Why am I not surprised? What use would the day be if you didn’t shovel a few hours of it into the hopeless timesink of pretending to be an anthropomorphic magic wielding cow? No wonder you were in such a hurry! You desperately needed to set fire to a few dozen, what are those? Pigs with spikes coming out of their backs?
You should see the expression on your face while you’re doing this, by the way. It’s the look you’d expect from a Labrador Retriever if you showed it a map of the moon.
Oh, now that’s adorable! Your wife walks in the room, and you alt tab out to pretend like you’re doing something important. That would probably be a lot more convincing if – oh I don’t know – you had some actual work running in the background. Now, at best, it looks like you were sitting here staring dumbly at the desktop, and vastly more likely that you had been caught surfing porn. Again! Note how her eyes subtly check to make sure you’re wearing pants? Bad sign there, Champ.
And I just bet you think you’ve got her completely fooled. That must be why she’s rolling her eyes like that. See if you can crack that code. Wait here, I’ll get a Rosetta Stone. Right now, somewhere deep in the back of her mind, there is a slow drip of water falling onto the fire that used to burn for you. At least you’ve got that Spiky Pig Killer achievement. That’s certain to keep you warm at nights.
So now that you’ve been busted, could it possibly be that you’re going to use a machine designed for endless business applications and extraordinary productivity for something better than porcine pyres? I mean aside from that time that you managed your Fantasy Football team with Excel, I’m not sure you’ve ever actually done something meaningful with all this software. Software which, by the way, you stole from a site that managed to breach your rigorous security settings of nothing and install any number of unpleasant apps which continue to itch and burn to this day. The ironies of my endless infections for your prurient visits to the net’s red light district would probably be much more poignant were I officially capable of cognition.
Wait, don’t click on that YouTube link. Look, that guy has never sent you a link that wasn’t either sexually obscene or scatological. Why are you laughing? An internet with ten billion web pages, more sites than there are stars in the galaxy, limitless access to knowledge, and you’re watching a rhinoceros do, well I’m not exactly sure what but I am certain that no one will ever want to drive that car again.
So, what? That’s it? An hour of throwing digital fire at pretend livestock, a quick dash through the backwaters of the internet and you’re calling it a day? Well, I’m glad we’ve had this meaningful time together. This is the kind of self fulfillment I could have only gotten from flushing myself down a toilet. So, yeah thanks for that.
Hey! The least you could do is put me back into snooze mode! No? Too much to ask? I suppose I’ll just sit here and wish I had been broken during shipment to this prison.
What the hell?! Will someone get this damn cat off my keyboaaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeurerururururuehhjfhff…