My laptop is an HP Pavilion Something Something. I’ve owned him since I graduated high school approximately a million years ago. His name is Jasper. Through the years, he has undergone a substantial amount of abuse. He’s had every variety of beverage spill on him, been dropped numerous times, and his keyboard probably serves as a tomb for dozens of dead ants. Still, he has persevered through it all so I will always have a place available to access Facebook and store all my
porn hilarious dick jokes.
That said, Jasper needs to be replaced. Owning a computer is very much like owning a car or a pet. The first few years are great, but once it starts breaking down you wish it would just hurry up and die so that you can get a new one. Jasper has gone from being a cybernetic comrade in arms to an aged clockwork grandfather suffering from dementia and latter stage Alzheimer’s. Not only will it freeze at the least convenient of times, but it will often simply stop and restart for absolutely no reason and then drolly inform me that all of my programs contain a fatal error.
On a side note, what the fuck is a “fatal error”? When I first read that as a young’n in the days of Windows98, I immediately ran from the room in the fear that my computer was about to explode and kill me in a fiery shower of shrapnel. Computers: They were created to fuck with us.
It pains me to say this, but I may have to get a Mac after all this. I’ve been a strict adherent to the Church of PC for my whole life, but it’s time for the conversion to come. While I’m more familiar with the interface and arbitrary difficulty of the PC, there’s no denying that they age like a strung out meth hooker. They become fuck-up machines. You can’t even get upset with it after the 100th spontaneous shut-down. Like a family member with narcolepsy, you just have to start accepting it as a fact of life. So fine, fuck it, I’ll get a Mac. Even though it will probably kill me in my sleep.