Entry: The Forty-Second--The Technobiological Menace
My computer’s turned evil.
Help.
There are all these girls in Palmer lounge talking about animal sex. They make it sound like they’re studying for a biology test, but I know better. It’s a front. They’re too scared to admit their kinky perverted squirrel fetishes outright so they act all biological. They’re way too happy and laughing and playful for people really studying. They’re talking about blue-tit sex now. Sickos.
It’s bad when random icons start appearing on your desktop, but my random icons particularly suck. There’s a big blue number two in a circle. Number two like shit, in a circle like a toilet bowl or something, and a stupid dog, which I know makes shit, because that’s all dogs do. They shit all over the ground and they lick you. God, dogs annoy me. Whoever thought it would be funny to put a dog icon on my desktop, well, ha-ha.
They’re making popcorn now:
“Does this bag have 3.5 ounces of popcorn it?”
*laughter*
“Just wait until there are five seconds between pops”
“No, two seconds”
“Five seconds”
“Three seconds”
*laughter*
(Minutes pass)
“Should we be listening for our popcorn?”
(Another minute)
“Did you fuck with my popcorn?”
“It’s all hot, ow”
“I need a napkin; it’s really hot”
“Aaah… hot!”
Die, bitches, die, and take your burnt popcorn with you*.
Actually, the dog’s gone now. So is the big number two in a circle. In fact, all my icons are gone. I dragged a virus scan window over them and they like that, poof, they disappeared! It was sort of fun, actually. Kinda like erasing a Magna-Doodle or something. In fact, that’s exactly what my computer is now. An erasable fucking Magna-Doodle! Yay!
I smell the popcorn now. It smells good. Like popcorn, pretty much. Do you think if I asked, they’d give me some? I mean, I don’t know any of them. How weird would that be if I asked? I’d be shattering traditional social paradigms! Doesn’t that sound cool? Let me ponder this...
To fix my computer I need a dorm tech. The Palmer dorm tech is one Kenneth Bruce Patton. Kenneth Bruce Patton does not read LiveJournal, so I can say mean things about him here and he’ll never ever, ever know. Here, let’s try one:
Kenneth Bruce Patton smells.
Wasn’t that fun? Let’s try another.
Once I saw Kenneth Bruce Patton wearing mismatched socks.
All right, here’s an actual complaint. The following sign has been posted above the Palmer dorm printer for the last two weeks:
“Dear ITS person-I am sad because I wake up and need to print a paper and have to run to the library because we have no paper. There is a nightly exodus to Roberts in pajamas to print. In fact, there has never been paper in this printer. Please put some there. Please, please, please. Thanks.”
Yes, that’s right: Kenneth Bruce Patton makes poor, desperate, underprivileged Swarthmore students trek through perilous rain and ice and snow in NOTHING BUT THIN, UNCOMFORTABLE, SCRATCHY, ILL-FITTING PAJAMAS to print their papers. He is that cruel. ::shuns Ken::
Wait, what was I saying again?
I think they spilled the popcorn. Damn. They’re ordering a pizza now. They stopped talking about, biology too. Instead they’re talking about playing Beirut now. Irrepressible hedonists.
Oh, right…I need a dorm tech to fix my computer. Ken is the Palmer dorm tech. Right now, Ken is in Beardsley. He is working at the ITS help desk. He won’t be back until after 2 AM. Isn’t that ironic? My computer’s all screwed up, and neither my computer-savvy roommate nor my dorm tech is around to help, because my computer savvy roommate IS my dorm tech, and he’s both in Beardsley. Bah.
Organelles, chloroplasts, genome, photosynthetic ability, gametes, mitochondria, ovum. All those words in the span of a minute. I need to leave. Biology is so annoying. These people’s voices are so annoying. I’m losing it.
I’m gone.
*Not really. I'm too nice to really wish death on people. And besides, if I did want them to die, I'd at least grant them the luxury of appropriately microwaved popcorn.
Help.
There are all these girls in Palmer lounge talking about animal sex. They make it sound like they’re studying for a biology test, but I know better. It’s a front. They’re too scared to admit their kinky perverted squirrel fetishes outright so they act all biological. They’re way too happy and laughing and playful for people really studying. They’re talking about blue-tit sex now. Sickos.
It’s bad when random icons start appearing on your desktop, but my random icons particularly suck. There’s a big blue number two in a circle. Number two like shit, in a circle like a toilet bowl or something, and a stupid dog, which I know makes shit, because that’s all dogs do. They shit all over the ground and they lick you. God, dogs annoy me. Whoever thought it would be funny to put a dog icon on my desktop, well, ha-ha.
They’re making popcorn now:
“Does this bag have 3.5 ounces of popcorn it?”
*laughter*
“Just wait until there are five seconds between pops”
“No, two seconds”
“Five seconds”
“Three seconds”
*laughter*
(Minutes pass)
“Should we be listening for our popcorn?”
(Another minute)
“Did you fuck with my popcorn?”
“It’s all hot, ow”
“I need a napkin; it’s really hot”
“Aaah… hot!”
Die, bitches, die, and take your burnt popcorn with you*.
Actually, the dog’s gone now. So is the big number two in a circle. In fact, all my icons are gone. I dragged a virus scan window over them and they like that, poof, they disappeared! It was sort of fun, actually. Kinda like erasing a Magna-Doodle or something. In fact, that’s exactly what my computer is now. An erasable fucking Magna-Doodle! Yay!
I smell the popcorn now. It smells good. Like popcorn, pretty much. Do you think if I asked, they’d give me some? I mean, I don’t know any of them. How weird would that be if I asked? I’d be shattering traditional social paradigms! Doesn’t that sound cool? Let me ponder this...
To fix my computer I need a dorm tech. The Palmer dorm tech is one Kenneth Bruce Patton. Kenneth Bruce Patton does not read LiveJournal, so I can say mean things about him here and he’ll never ever, ever know. Here, let’s try one:
Kenneth Bruce Patton smells.
Wasn’t that fun? Let’s try another.
Once I saw Kenneth Bruce Patton wearing mismatched socks.
All right, here’s an actual complaint. The following sign has been posted above the Palmer dorm printer for the last two weeks:
“Dear ITS person-I am sad because I wake up and need to print a paper and have to run to the library because we have no paper. There is a nightly exodus to Roberts in pajamas to print. In fact, there has never been paper in this printer. Please put some there. Please, please, please. Thanks.”
Yes, that’s right: Kenneth Bruce Patton makes poor, desperate, underprivileged Swarthmore students trek through perilous rain and ice and snow in NOTHING BUT THIN, UNCOMFORTABLE, SCRATCHY, ILL-FITTING PAJAMAS to print their papers. He is that cruel. ::shuns Ken::
Wait, what was I saying again?
I think they spilled the popcorn. Damn. They’re ordering a pizza now. They stopped talking about, biology too. Instead they’re talking about playing Beirut now. Irrepressible hedonists.
Oh, right…I need a dorm tech to fix my computer. Ken is the Palmer dorm tech. Right now, Ken is in Beardsley. He is working at the ITS help desk. He won’t be back until after 2 AM. Isn’t that ironic? My computer’s all screwed up, and neither my computer-savvy roommate nor my dorm tech is around to help, because my computer savvy roommate IS my dorm tech, and he’s both in Beardsley. Bah.
Organelles, chloroplasts, genome, photosynthetic ability, gametes, mitochondria, ovum. All those words in the span of a minute. I need to leave. Biology is so annoying. These people’s voices are so annoying. I’m losing it.
I’m gone.
*Not really. I'm too nice to really wish death on people. And besides, if I did want them to die, I'd at least grant them the luxury of appropriately microwaved popcorn.