Light and hearty observations from a fat and ugly guy. Home of hackneyed drivel and ersatz-existentialist effluence. Choleric biliousness a specialty, since 1958.

Computer makers everywhere: buff my scrotum!

This morning I spent hours installing software in a new computer. Loading discs here, accepting terms and conditions there. All done, head home, and I've just now been sitting on the throne, devoting time to my afternoon ablutions (and producing an exquisite, copious, and well-formed evacuation, I might add)....whilst purging myself, it occurred to me: why the fuck is it that when you start a computer, it takes for-fricking-ever for the goddamm thing to actually....start? What's with all the preliminaries?

The bullshit copyright notices or six screens of warnings and announcements or worse, bloody endless roll of credits, for God's sake. I don't care that the machine is checking my goddamm personal profile: just start the computer, dammit. And software: it doesn't move my give a shit meter one bit that, for example, this version of Photoshop involved the hard work of thirty six dweeby nerds, all of whom are named: just start the software, dammit.

Why can't it just be like my television, which goes like this--yiz turns it on, yiz gets "Alien Autopsy" (aka Hannity and Colmes)?

Imagine if the TV was like your computer--you're merged with the Barcolounger, grapefruit juice and pork rinds at the ready. Reaching for the remote, you hit the "on" button. At this point, you've got a right to expect that the old Philco would fire up, yes? But no: here come the screens letting you know that the first off, we're copyright 2006....and that this particular electrical wonder was invented by Philo Farnsworth and John Baird...more little start up messages and warnings and finally, yes, we're checking now, aren't we the helpful ones, just to make sure that it wasn't turned off incorrectly last time it was used.

What is that all about? Turned off incorrectly? Last thing I know that was turned off incorrectly was the last little piece of strumpet Nigel was trying to pull. Just last night, I had the opportunity and the means and the motive, but instead of killing the little darling I tried to get her to go home with me. Yes, she got turned off, and quickly, and who can blame the poor tart, because after all, I am me.

Buff my scrotum. To computer manufacturers, software developers, and snooty girls who can't appreciate what a fat, bald guy with blackheads, bad teeth, and inarguably repulsive personal hygiene could do for them.

posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 4:56 PM