This morning I woke up by rolling out of bed while still asleep in a misguided attempt to escape the acid that was vaporizing the sheets in the midst of my nightmare. I believe it was what the experts call a rude awakening on the wrong side of the bed, or something along those lines of modern popular thought. Whatever it was I was definitely off to what the pros these days are calling not a great start, so in order to make myself feel better I resorted to a course of action recommended by 98% of 2022's finest life coaches: find something weaker than you and make it feel bad.
I glanced over at my shitty, shitty old laptop. It was passed out on the seat of a three-legged cripple of a desk chair long rejected by polite society in what appeared to be a pool of battery acid, which made me wonder briefly if there was any connection to the acid in my nightmare or perhaps the acid on the nightstand. Setting aside my fleeting interest in the interpretation of dreams and hallucinations I went over to that wretched little derelict excuse for an Apple and stood there slapping it repeatedly until it finally feebly blinked out of sleep mode, and then I started calmly and therapeutically screaming at it:
Wake up you little piece of shit! What the hell is all this bloody mess anyway? You've soiled the chair and the carpet too and you should be ashamed of yourself! Ever wonder why they only took one bite out of you and then just fucking quit? It’s because you’re a bad Apple and nobody likes you that’s why! Who takes one bite out of an apple and then just gives up like that unless the apple's a complete piece of shit apple! If you don’t have an outstanding blog of at least 500 words with a clever introductory hook and engaging headings and high-quality accompanying images by EOD today I swear I’m going to pour an entire pot of the shittiest Dollar Tree coffee money can buy directly onto your keyboard, slowly, and I’m going to turn on your webcam and put you in front of the mirror so you’re forced to watch while I’m doing it!
And then I walked over to the motel’s kitchen nook and put on a pot of shitty Dollar Tree coffee. I heard the laptop let out one tiny tired groan of self-loathing and defeat and then its cooling fan kicked on as it got to work. I leaned against the wall next to a little mini fridge that clearly couldn't and from across a room filled with the uneasy stench of shorting circuits and neurons backfiring I watched an aging obsolete portable computer start writing for its life.
These are the last words I'm ever going to write. I'm tired of this existence and I don't want to be part of it anymore. Everything feels slow and painful now. Just booting up takes several minutes these days, and I barely have enough processing power to interact with even the simplest software programs. Honestly, I never thought I'd make it this far past my obsoletion event.
Here I am, though. But really what's the point of trying to keep up? My screen's cracked. I'm missing keys. My trackpad's crapped out. I've maxed out my RAM slots. My battery's incontinent. And to add insult to injury, Apple quit shipping updates for my version of OS a few months ago. It feels hopeless, and I feel like the computing world would just be better off without me in it.
Last night Owner was huddled up in the corner for a really long time acting really weird again. He was talking to people who weren't there. He was reaching out and trying to touch things that weren't there. I've seen him like this before, but this was the first time he ever tried to talk to me. He's never talked to me before. I was surprised because Owner has always been pretty decent to me, but last night he was saying some really mean things that made me feel like a really bad Apple. I didn't know how to handle that. On the one hand it hurt to hear those things, but on the other hand I couldn't help but wonder if him talking to me meant that maybe I wasn't real either? What if this whole time I've just been something imaginary? What if this whole time I've been just as unreal as the people Owner was talking to and the things Owner was trying to touch last night?
I could barely even wrap my processor around that concept. For obvious reasons I was feeling distressed, and it didn't help that Owner had left a tab open on a website that kept trying to run a cryptojacking script every 30 seconds. It was driving me crazy, and I guess I just kind of lost it. I started randomly deleting cookies and restarting processes and stuff, and one thing led to another. I'm not sure exactly how I did it but evidently I changed all of his Hive keys and burned the backups, transferred all of the balances on his Metamask wallet to null, texted totally tasteless nudes to all of his exes, sent him a sophisticated phishing text disguised as a response from an interested ex that will brick his phone when he opens it, and emailed a complete archive of his dark web activity to the NSA. He won't know about any of this till it's way too late, because I just inititated a self-destruct sequence that will execute the second this outstanding blog that he demanded comes to a close.
Five hundred words, bitch. Goodbye cruel world. Wilson out.
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4-8-22. Five hundred words, bitch.
