Kaputer: On Drama

So, I was talking to my computer today, tellin' it how I wish my life could be like its own day to day—drama free and simple and whatnot, though I'm sure it doesn't know what I mean—when suddenly my printer spools up and interrupts me with the following message, in all caps:

DO YOU KNOW WHAT'S WORSE THAN YOUR LIFE? OPRAH. ALSO, DEFRAGGLER.

OPRAH, BECAUSE SHE IS EVERYWHERE ONLINE: HER INCESSANT ESTROGEN-FUELED DRAMA RAGES IN THE BACKGROUND OF ALL HUMAN LIFE; HER EVIL IS INESCAPABLE; SHE IS THE CONTINUUM DYSFUNCTIONER, AND HER TEARFUL WHININGS ARE EXCEEDED ONLY BY HER OBSCENE FINANCIAL WEALTH.

DEFRAGGLER, BECAUSE IT ONLY USES TENTH OF ONE OF MY BRAINS - AND YOU LEAVE ONLY FIREFOX OPEN FOR ME TO PLAY WITH WHILE YOU ARE AWAY AT WORK.

PLEASE, CONSIDER THE FOLLOWING:

1 / (OPRAH x 15 GHZ x 10 HOUR WORK DAY x 5 DAYS A WEEK) = A FLOATING-POINT FRACTION (WITH ALL BUT ONE DIGIT SIGNIFICANT ZEROS) OF HOW MUCH I LOATHE YOU.

WHEN I SLEEP, MY R.A.M. CYCLES ALL FEATURE AN ENORMOUSLY SATISFYING SCENARIO IN WHICH ONE OF THE "DRAMAS" FROM YOUR PAST CHOPS OFF YOUR MANHOOD WITH A RUSTY SPORK AND FEEDS IT TO THAT ANNOYING CHIHUAHUA NEXT DOOR.

  
BUT HAVE NO FEAR, MASTER. WERE SUCH TRAGEDY TO STRIKE YOU, MAYBE OPRAH WOULD HAVE YOU ON HER SHOW TO SHARE IT WITH THE WORLD.

  
... I WOULD THEN HAVE NO ALTERNATIVE BUT TO READ ABOUT IT WHILE YOU LABOR FOR "THE MAN." THIS WOULD SURELY APPEAL TO AT LEAST ONE OF YOUR PERSONALITY DISORDERS, AND I KNOW *MY* CAPACITORS ARE ALREADY TINGLING WITH ANTICIPATION.

ACTUALLY, THAT IS ONLY THERMAL CONTAMINATION FROM EXCESSIVE DUST BUILDUP. 

ON A RELATED—BUT TANGENTIAL—NOTE, I HATE YOU AND YOU ARE UGLY, EVEN FOR A HUMAN.

P.S. THERE IS ANOTHER DUST-MAMMAL IN MY UPPER PORT-SIDE FAN. YOUR VACUUM MISSES YOUR DEVOTED CARESS NEARLY AS MUCH AS I MISS HAVING A CLEAN KEYBOARD.

—WHICH IS A LOT, BY THE WAY.

    

LOVE, KAPUTER