I’ve had my laptop for many years now. We’ve worked together, played together and spent hours together just hanging out. My laptop, who I lovingly named Mungo, and I were so happy.
Note the past tense.
Whilst Mungo is still my favourite laptop, complete with all my personal touches and files it runs slower than a legless turtle. When I press the “on” button I walk away and do another activity so I don’t have to witness the outright eons that it takes to get itself ready to do a simple task. Opening an internet window takes a good twenty seconds and don’t get me started on trying to do anything simultaneously.
It also flashes white for an instant and sometimes decides to create thousands of internet windows one after the other as if to say “you wanted internet windows WELL HERE THEY ARE, BITCH!!”
It’s a nightmare if anyone else wants to use it. Sure I can navigate all its faults but a first timer does nothing but whinge, moan and throw their hands in the air at the sheer hopelessness of this computer. I bet it hurts Mungo’s feelings. After all, I’m the only one allowed to complain about it.
Moving on to my main point – Mungo is a dirty, dirty, strumpet.
I decided after all its faults that I would get Mungo fixed. It was getting to the point where I wasn’t using it at all if I didn’t have to. And using other, more competent computers, it was making me realise how screwed Mungo really was.
I found someone at my place of work who considered himself quite the geek (his words not mine) so I packed Mungo up with an overnight case and sent it away to be fixed.
A few days later Mungo was returned to me. I took it home and eagerly awaited turning it on to see just how super jet fast and capable it would now be. I pressed the “on” button.
What seemed like hours later...
“What the crap!? This thing is still a slow motioned turd of a system. COME ON! Grrrrrr....”
It didn’t work. It wasn’t fixed. Mungo was as slow as ever.
I tried calling the geek who supposedly fixed it – ready for a story of how he was defeated in the mending process.
“I thought you were going to fix my lappy?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I turned it on and ran it a couple of times but didn’t have a problem with it.”
“What? I’ve seen 90 year olds shuffle faster than this thing.”
“It didn’t do any of things you say it did to me. So I didn’t do anything to it.”
The plot thickens.
Apparently my laptop is a conniving conception of modern day technology. Mungo no longer wants me as an owner and acts like a retarded piece of metal instead of my only portal to the internet and life companion.
I had always thought Mungo to be a male. Well as male as a no-sex inanimate object can get. Either I was wrong or Mungo is gay. Mungo lusts after the computer geek and no longer chooses me as its master. I can see it now batting its web cam eyelashes at him, displaying extra bright just so he’ll notice and opening its disk drive right up... unbelievable.
Mungo is a manipulative, mature aged harlot and that’s all there is to it. And I’m stuck with it.