While I will never install a tracker on my website, gentle reader, I can discern when someone’s trying to hack into my computer.
And I have a special message for you, Mr. 211.76.97.230.
You’d better get yourself a good IP-Masker, gentle f*cknut, because I’m on to you. Do you really think I’d store my credit card numbers, bank routing numbers, and my deepest, darkest secrets in my computer? If that’s the case, come a little closer and let me whisper something in your ear: you’re one sad little hacker.
If you want my security files so badly, you could’ve asked and I would’ve zipped them up and mailed them to you. Why? I’ll tell you why: Because I don’t care if you whiz around my enormous 6.4-gig hard drive and peruse my English papers. You want my hardware drivers? Have at them. And you can have ALL the cookies in my Internet cache–suck them down until you explode, for all I care. What if you permanently brought down my entire system? I would weep some of my sweet, hot tears, gentle dipshit, and then proceed to purchase a new rig. I mean, hell, I’ll send you a crappy processor, PC-100 RAM, an Ensoniq soundcard, and a half-working DVD-drive to go along with that precious hard drive, if you’d like.
Here, let me bottom-line it for you: If you screw around with me, you’re going up Shit Creek without a paddle.
And now, non-hackerly gentle readers, I wish you a good night.
My Muse kind of died again, gentle reader, so while my HR department attempts to locate a new one, I’ll fill you in on some important company policies.
First, while I would very much like to install a tracker on this site–as far as I know, you and I are the only people reading this site right now–I won’t do so. Our company was founded on a solid stalker’s credo, so take heart! You may click the relaxing olive-green all you want in sweet anonymity.
Second, before you accuse me of having just fallen off the turnip truck, I must exonerate myself and state that I know story chapters don’t begin in bold every frickin’ time. I turn on the font factory, dear reader, to distinguish wisdom from fiction. Yeah, I’ve been staying up nights thinking about this one.
Third, hail to the Pom-Pom.
Finally, your gentle CEO received a tax-return check today. I was briefly elated, but then I realized that reveling over the check is akin to asking Uncle Sam to remove a chunk of flesh from my body, letting Sam keep some of it, hoping that he’ll mail the leftovers back, and then thanking him for doing so.
One of the joys of taking a single class, gentle reader, is the sheer amount of time one has to play around with. I went to my thrice-weekly session of British Literature today and listened as Professor Lane expounded upon Hardyan poetry and British angst in his authentic British accent. He began his lecture with an iteration of his trademark phrase–“Cast your minds”–and fifty minutes later, the typical undergraduate chorus of papers shuffling and trappers barking forced the session to an end.
Full of hope and excitement, I exited Annenberg to a harsh Evanstonian reality. Put eloquently, gentle reader, it was frickin’ freezing today. Understand, I like cold weather and all of that, but when it’s forty-nine degrees Fahrenheit in the middle of May, you’ve got to wonder what’s going on. So although the rest of the day loomed before me, skipping around outdoors certainly wasn’t an option.
Do you remember the original Super Mario Brothers, dear reader? I thought of our plump, culturally-representative Italian plumber today as I stepped outside. Do you remember how you could descend into the Mushroom Kingdom’s sewage system and warp in mere seconds to Level 8-1? What if you were Mario and you hunkered down into a pipe, having full confidence that you would emerge in a certain place, yet you ended up in Peoria, IL? What if you dropped down the pipe and ended up at the Census Bureau? What if you never played Super Mario Brothers? What if you don’t care about any of this? Well, I can answer the last question for you: Because I’d have my henchmen make you bunk with the dead people. For your sake, then, let’s hope that I step outside tomorrow into weather that I like, okay? Oh, yeah, and the economy’s pretty bad right now too.