Cap'n Bob, the technot

Not a tech nut, a technot. Computers have always amazed and somewhat frightened me, but I've gotten to the point where I know where the On/Off switch is. At least mine's bright orange....helps when I've been tipping the rum barrel in abundance. It took me the longest time to figure out how to use a mouse. I asked for a bigger one, since I'm not a delicate guy, and thought bigger might be easier. I figured the little 'uns were called a mouse, and the big 'uns like I wanted would probably be called a moose. No, I was informed that a bigger mouse would make it a RAT, and no computer companies make rats! They only make mouses (I know, plural is mice, but there has to be something separating this little plastic doo-dah from a hairy critter that makes girlies scream). Anyway, today after uploading breakfast, I figured I'd get to work on whatever it is I do all day on the computer. Lo and behold, Mr. Microsoft sent me a little gold shield, telling me I had important stuff to update. I never would have known that on my own, so a special and hearty thanks to Mr. Microsoft! Have you ever seen Mr. Microsoft run by the way? Bill gaits.

So here I am with this little gold shield in my mug, and I clicks "yes" since it's the only choice I can think of other than hitting it with a hammer to make it go away. And thar she goes! I found myself downloading whatever it is they think I need so desperately that I didn't have yesterday when everything was working FINE! Only thing was, my screen was all messed up....there was a big block of nothin' sitting there. No moving, no blinking, just a big block at eye level gawking at me. I'm confused. Usually this is 15 seconds, over and out, thank you Mr. Microsoft. Not today -- This thing is staring at me like I got spinach in my teeth. 2-3-4 minutes go by, and now I figure I'm frozen in the Cyber Sea, but suddenly a message came across that screen that shivered me timbers! The machine wanted to check my current configuration. Dagnabbit. I had me a woman doctor once, and that was embarrassing enough, but now a stinkin' machine wants to check my configuration. I was about to pull the plug, when the message changed a second time. What the? Now the machine wanted to estimate space for insertion! That was the last straw for The Cap'n. I re-booted that thing across the room, and shouted "And don't you EVER come back here!" It was only later I found out those messages were part of the drill, so I apologized to my machine and even bought it a new dust cover. The catalog says it's puce. I don't even know what color that is, but puce was a funny word and I bought it.


Being a technot in a world of 8-year-old geniuses reminds me to go find that rum barrel again, before bunking down for the night.