Sunday, March 20, 2011

Howie’s Obituary

Howie Perce, died in the night; I guess that’s the way most people want to go. Still, I’m a little sad. He was a good computer. I remember the first day he helped me start my blog, or the time I mercilessly used him to start my business. And all those hours we spent together before I got my degree online. And yet now . . . he’s dead and I feel like a user. Yesterday was the eve of his death. Today . . . is a day of mourning!


Although death came in the night, I don’t want you thinking my computer . . . Howie Perce (or H. P.) died from natural causes--OH NO! It was a murder! There are many clues to unraveling this mystery. It’s sad because as I slept sweetly last night, Howie had already contracted the disease that would end all future downloads. I don’t know who he got the virus from, but I’m curbing my anger--it’s never good talking badly about the dead.

So, this morning I still didn’t know the truth as I poured my delicious coffee and ate a pastry from Heaven itself! I sipped ignorantly because when computers die, they don’t send out the stench of death--not until you look at their screen.

I smiled and wrapped my fuzzy blanky around me.  The word INFECTARSE flashed on the screen. I’m not gonna lie; I worried that meant someone had tried infecting Howie's arse.  Then I felt tampered with, like I’d trusted the wrong H. P.. What made the whole thing worse is that I don’t speak Spanish. Sure I can ask where a bano is, order a quesadilla or inquire about how great someone’s day was, but I can’t read computer lingo in English--let alone Espanol! That was a knife in my blog-loving heart! I navigated to the English mode and then sat horrified as the number 67 pulsed on my screen. Some virus (from a user named Angelita) had infected my computer! Sixty-seven of her agents had already sunk into my systems after days of hidden criminal effort. Howie even gave out my credit card info and some other personal things that make me want to cry!

Now I know this is supposed to be a nice obituary, filled with flowery things about how awesome H. P. was. I should even lie, just to make his passing easier, but the fact remains that Howie fraternized places he shouldn’t have been! I can’t hide my pain anymore! Howie sold my info. Hell, he even turned off his previous language preference for . . . for . . . some user named Angelita. I should have known; lately, whenever we spent time together, his time zone monitor would flash updates and he’d make this growling noise like he didn’t want to be there. The whole thing makes me sick! I should have seen the signs.
It’s too late now though; Howie is dead and I have a laptop!
I have one message Howie: I’m sorry you’re gone, but I guess we both knew we were growing apart. I didn’t know how to say this, but you were too old for me anyway.


The Angelita Hater