Random Gripe
November 18th, 2005,Okay. I asked my computer to play music over 30 minutes ago. I did not ask to subcribe to a newsletter. I most specifically did not ask if the update to winamp that it’s told me about every four hours for the last three weeks was still there.
I quite emphatically did NOT ask to download that newer version of winamp.
I quite explicitly did not ask if my penis needed enlarging, or if there was someone who could help me maintain an erection. I did not ask if anyone needed help smuggling a billion dollars out of Uganda.
I ASKED FOR MUSIC. And what is more infuriating than all of those petty little irritations put together is this:
I did not, ever, expect to have to ASK my computer for ANYTHING. I should be able to DEMAND, dammit. It is not some exalted god, no nobleman from whom I must beg and borrow. It is not a superior to whom I must answer before I can go on with my work. It is supposed to be my fucking TOOL.
I don’t ASK my screwdriver to tell me about all the other sizes it comes in. When I want a bigger screwdriver, I go fucking look for one.
And NOW, as I type out my petty little complaint and go looking for a suggestion box to put it into, suddenly my internet connection dies. As if it knows, and wants to punish me for the insolence.
Frank Herbert had it right. I sit and await a Butlerian Jihad.