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Can’t Live With ‘Em, Can’t Chop ‘Em Into Tiny Bits and Piss On ‘Em

So, I’ve been doing some thinking lately. And I’ve decided that computers are the cause of the vast majority of my problems lately. Whether it’s the one upstairs that won’t frigging work, or the one in my day-job office that serves as a gateway to the crappy code and goobered-up database that I’m supposed to be fixing, it’s always computers at the very epicenter of the clusterfucks that swirl around me.

(Um, I wouldn’t try too hard to get a visual on ‘clusterfucks swirling around me’, by the way. I just gave it a shot, and it came out sort of like a cross between Twister and Caligula. Mighty unpleasant. I can’t recommend it.)

So, I’m thinking of boycotting these electronic bastards for a while, to teach them that I can get along just fine without ’em. It’s gonna be an adjustment, sure, but I think I can pull it off. The machine upstairs is on its own — it doesn’t seem to want to talk to me, anyway, so fuck it. I can play the ‘silent treatment’ game, too. See how the damned thing feels without that electric plug in its ass for a couple of weeks.

(Hopefully, about the same way I’d feel if I sat around with a power cord up my hiney-hole for a few days. Frazzled, paranoid, and thoroughly ready to straighten up and be reasonable.

At least, I imagine that’s how I feel. This is not the sort of thing I experiment with. Can’t waste good electricity, you know.)

As for work, that should be no problem. I must have thirty hours of meetings or more a week — it’s a shock that I’m able to sit at my desk long enough to get by knickers in a tizzy as it is. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take very damned long. But I can probably avoid my computer for a few days, anyway — I’ll sign up for a new committee or something, or go to all those seminars and talks and conferences that I’m supposed to be going to, anyway, but never have the time. Oh, the nonsense I’ll learn! Huzzah! Huzzay!

Of course, that leaves the matter of this little site here. I’ve already been slacking off around here lately, thanks to the cockamamie bullshit those computers have caused.

(You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever had to spell that word before. ‘Cockamamie’. That doesn’t look right at all. Looks like some sort of dog breed, or maybe a stripper name.

Hey, don’t laugh. Those girls pick some ridiculous bullshit sometimes. I once saw — I mean, *ahem* *cough cough*, I once heard of — a stripper who called herself ‘Estonia’. Niiiiiice. Name yourself after an Eastern European country. Very sexy, there, sweetie. How ’bout if I stuff a sausage down my trunks, call myself ‘Poland’, and hop up there and join you, eh?

Yeah. Turns out that’s exactly why strip clubs hire bouncers. Who’d have guessed?)

All right. Where the hell was I, anyway? All that stripper talk has got me distractipated.

Ah, computers. And writing for this site. And how to do one without touching the other. Righto.

So, I obviously don’t want to go without writing during my ‘puter boycott. I’m already pissed that I’ve had less time to hang out here, because of my various computery complications. So how to post without touching one of the filthy beasts? Well, I’ve got a few ideas about that:

#1. Posting by Proxy: The easiest solution, perhaps, would be to use someone else to tippy-type my drivel into a computer. I could dictate it out, they could enter it, and I’d never have to lay one fingertip on the keyboard. From my perspective, it’s a pretty sweet deal.

Of course, then there’s the matter of finding some poor sap who could survive not only reading this bullshit, but also hearing and writing it as well. Yeah — good fricking luck with that. I don’t see it happening, unless the local loony bin is willing to loan me a few of their droolers on a work release arrangement. And then, I’d have to put plastic on all the furniture. Suddenly, this option seems like an awful lot of work. Bah.

#2. Voice Recognition to the Rescue: So, if no one else wants to hear my crap, then why not cut out the middle man, and just tell the computer what I want written down? Sure, it sounds like a good idea. Lots of things sound like a good idea. Edible underwear sounds like a good idea — until you find yourself and your S.O. stuck to the suddenly strawberry-flavored sheets and picking pubes from between your teeth. Or so I would, um, imagine. You see what I mean.

But back to the slightly less frightening prospect of me standing in my living room, slowly and carefully enunciating crap like that last bit into the microphone on the side of my laptop. Yeah, I can see how that would go:

‘… and picking pubes from — no, no, not cubes! Delete, delete, delete, delete, delete. Puh. Yuuubes. No! Not ‘pud lubes’! Well… actually, sort of, kinda. But no. Delete, delete, delete, delete, delete. PUH-yuuuuuubes. Pubes, dammit, pubes! What, is ‘pubes’ not in your dictionary?! What kind of bullshit program is this?‘

Yeah, see, that’s never gonna work. At that point, I’m still using a computer, even if I’m not typing. It’ll still be just as aggravating, and I’ll still want to punt the goddamned thing into a wood chipper. This idea’s never gonna fly. So, I guess it’s up to…

#3. Morse Code Madness: As far as I can figure it, this is my best shot. A morse code tapper doesn’t count as a computer in my book, so it’s fair game to use. And this way, nobody else gets involved, there’s no convincing some assbag software that ‘boobered’ is really a word — or ought to be, anyway — and I can still tip-ta-tip-tap-tip the entries in myself. It’s perfect. Well, except that I don’t actually know Morse code, or have a telegraph doohickey to produce it with, or any way to get those little dots and dashes converted into words, even if I could tap ’em out. Aw, bitches.

Well, that’s it, then. If I want to keep posting here, I’ve got to use a computer. Those mother-bitching machines win again. Work, home, free time — I can’t get the hell away. They just drag me back in. *sigh*

Ah, well. I guess that means it’s okay to waste a few hours playing Madden, then, eh? All I gotta do is get that crapmonkey machine upstairs running again, and it’s back to wasting time on my terms. I’d better get to work. Catch you folks on the flip side.