Glasses, of the sort that rest upon one’s nose, possess certain failings. They’re worn on the face, making them susceptible to the slings, arrows, and schoolyard bullies of outrageous fortune. They make the use of other types of eye covering – swim goggles, paintball masks, and welding helmets – awkward at best and bloody well impossible at worst. And, perhaps most damning, they seem to be a sort of societal status symbol for, “Hey, I can fix your computer.”
Let us address the last point. Yes, I can fix your computer. Despite the fact that your desktop is populated by more icons than an eastern church, your internet browser is a veritable hive of scum and villainy, and your boot time is now measured in increments reserved for interstellar travel, I can undo the damage. You have no system CDs, no support documentation, and no clue, but none of that will stop me. Like the Bill Clinton of tech support, I feel your pain.
Never mind, of course, that your pain is entirely self-inflicted. I had thought that, ’round about the same time we stopped flinging our poo at each other for sport, we also concluded that downloading and installing Smiley Central would not be in our best interest. Apparently, I was wrong. Likewise, based on where your internet browser keeps pointing me, I’ve concluded you are also unsatisfied with the dimensions of your…you know what, never mind. Furthermore, I feel I have to comment about the three hundred gigs apparently devoted to various MP3s…mostly disco. And while I must confess to being curious as to what dark force you bargained with to find three hundred gigs worth of disco, I’m going to content myself with sending it to the recycle bin so we can…I don’t know…have more than six kilobytes of free space to work with here.
I think this also might be a good time to address your apparent goal of clicking everything on the internet. I would like you to stop. Immediately. I don’t care if the banner ad says you’ve won an iPod, a million dollars, or adoption into the royal family. Odds are it’s lying, and if you click it you, or at the very least I, am going to regret it. The same goes for offers of academic degrees, Rolex watches, or any product that claims to increase your chances with the fairer sex. Admittedly, you need all the help you can get on that last part, but let’s confine this discussion to your computer.
Which, ironically, brings us to the fundamental problem we’re facing. This is your computer. Once I get done working my particular form of triage, I am going to give this back to you, and you are going to screw it up again. Thus, while I can treat the symptoms, it seems I cannot cure the disease without being tried for homicide. However, don’t think that I haven’t thought about it – or about how many times I have to uninstall the BonziBuddy before murder is not simply justified but encouraged.
If you need further proof of that, let it be known there reaches a point where not even a jury of my peers would convict me. I submit the following: You have lost all your system CDs, you have no support documentation, and somehow a Dorito – cool ranch by the looks of it – found its way inside the CD-ROM tray. In the future, will you be able to remember the CD-ROM is not, in fact, a coaster, or do I need to acquire a Dymo labeler and apply a sticker to that effect?
But here we are. Done and done. The computer functions, more or less, as it was originally intended. And I hope you don’t mind, but I converted your snack drawer back into a CD-ROM. I’d tell you to be more careful in the future, but that would be somewhat akin to asking Ozzy Osbourne to speak coherently. As for me, I’ve learned one important lesson from your computer: I’m switching to contacts.