All right, I'm not much on story writing, or poetry. My forte is, as my friend likes to call them, "caustic essays." I try to model writing, loosely, after Dave Barry. (I hope at least some of you know who Dave Barry is.)
Tell me, if you could, what you think of the essay, if you have any improvements (i.e., grammar, spelling, puctuation), and if you think I'm any good at this whole writing thing. I want to go into journalism in college...I think. (I've got a year to decide, we'll see what happens.)
I Blame Bill Gates
I have many technologically advanced friends (thatís computer geeks to us anti-political correctness people). And I know there are going to be many who read this essay who are the same way. I give you a caveat: Iím technologically slow (computer retard). So, when Iím saying things that sound really boiled down, and stupid, they are; donít think about it, just read Ö and laugh if you feel so inclined.
Recently, my computer decided that it hated me. You may be asking your self ďSelf! How can a computer hate someone?Ē Well, my feeble-minded friend, because Bill Gates hates everyone, thatís how. Now, Bill Gates is a genius in his own accord Ė mainly screwing the world out of being able to have a computer that works properly, and thereby having to buy superfluous tidbits (i.e., books, your own personal tech support person) to get your piece of crap working.
Bill Gates has monopolized every aspect computerness - from that one thing with the thing to that other thing for the thing. And everything heís installed on my piece of crap Ö umm Ö I mean my computer has broke. The internet hates me Ė it refuses to let me sign on to various instant messengers, and doesnít allow me to download virtually anything. Outlook Express, just today, has decided that it hates me too. The stupid thing wonít let me open up my e-mail. I can receive all the e-mail I want, but I canít open it. This makes perfect sense I realize. When I want to reinstall, or upgrade anything, I canít. Nothing is signed to be compatible with Windows XP: The Devilís Briefcase. Thatís right, when I try to fix The Devilís Briefcase I canít because Bill Gates hates me.
So, we see that Bill Gates hates me, and everyone else who heís pawned his crap off to. And now heís sitting in his lofty mansion on the planet Bill Gates with three-breasted alien women fanning him while he uses his de-bugged Windows God-only-knows-what, whilst pushing up his thick, goose-eyed glasses, naked (a despicable, mangy, thin body with absolutely no hair on it because heís too busy with his computers to actually hit puberty) looking up alien porn because heís a freak. God forbid he try and make something that doesnít suck. All I want out of that pathetic excuse for even a computer geek is a computer that works properly; one where I donít have to talk to friends about how I can get it to work Ė one where I donít have to call up the geniuses (and I use that term loosely) at technical support. I want a computer where, I turn it on, I log on, and the piece of crap doesnít have bad news every time. I want a computer where I can think: Hmm, Iím glad I have a computer. It makes my life easier.
But do I get that? No. I get a computer where, if I could find a shot gun, Iíd shoot the thing into oblivion and back just so I can pee on it when it comes back, and smash it with a sledge hammer. I get a computer that even the technologically advanced tell me ďYouíre screwed.Ē I get a computer that no one can fix because itís that screwed up. I get the only computer on the face of the planet where the brains (or whatever theyíre called) are programmed to hate Steven Kaser. I get a computer where Bill Gates has personally programmed my computer, in that nasally, geeky, hiccupy, mine of a laugh, to fall apart on delivery Ė to be the best (or worst depending on perspective) piece of crap heís ever turned out.
And what does the world get? They get his residual hate. They get whatever evil scheme Bill Gates has come up with. They get a scheme that would turn Gandhi from a love and peace guru to a crazed Indian rebel rebelling against the tyrannical forces that are Bill Gates and His Minions of Computer Doom screaming at the top of his lungs ďGANDHI SMAAAAAASH!!!!!Ē Heíd be smacking down his wrath upon the Minions of Computer Doom. Smack! ďLove and peace!Ē he would shriek with the shriek of a banshee in the woods on the hunt for the invading white man, only heíd be on the prowl for the Minions of Computer Doom and their malevolent leader Bill Gates. (Is it just me, or is this starting to sound like a wicked cool video game?)
Do you know why Bill Gates does this? Yes, he hates the world, especially Will, but thereís another reason. He still, STILL, hasnít gotten over being picked on in high school. So, I blame the world being in shambles on people in their forties because they couldnít just shut up and let a computer geek be. He does this because he has issues and heís not man enough to get over them. So I blame you, you old people. Itís your fault. Itís your fault I canít leave the computer happy. Itís your fault I have to punch through walls. Itís your fault I wrote this essay.
But most of all, itís Bill Gatesís fault for not being a man. I blame him for being a wimp and not being man enough to just get over it. I blame him for making crappy products, and monopolizing computer products. I blame him most of all for making me feel retarded. If it werenít for you, you scrawny waste of a human being, Iíd be doing something worthwhile now, and not trying understand what your minions (the stupid tech support people and everyone else who understands computers) are trying to tell me. Because they speak in an enigmatic, coded language that only they can understand, I get treated like a peon.
In conclusion, I hope I didnít alienate anyone except Bill Gates and his Minions of Computer Doom. I try not to be mean, hateful, vengeful (oh, and there will be sweet vengeance Ė sweet vengeance upon the soulless bodies of his evil empire), but when you treat me like crap, and refuse to help me, I will get angry, as has been shown here.