Out of Internet

Send help.

This is an emergency. If you can read this, then disaster has not yet struck your area. But you very well may be next. You should know that many sacrifices were made to deliver you this message. I had to perform a series of increasingly complex trades to earn access to a working computer and type this out – my hands shahshashhahshshaking with fear. I started with a paper clip, and traded goods with a shrewd Gypsy until I was able to exchange my car for ten minutes of internet access. Yes, that’s right. A terrible pox is upon our house. We have no internet. It began yesterday, around lunchtime, but it seems like almost half a century has passed between now and “The Event.” Ever since the service blackout, Wife and I have had to make do by roasting baked beans on a fork over a candle, flicking the springy door stop back and forth while singing songs about our rich heritage, and huddling around our phones. Yes, our phones still get internet via our cellular network, but it’s not as fast! [dramatic revelatory music] It has indeed been a cruel test of our resolve and spirit, but I am happy to report we have not yet been forced to start eating our leather goods. All we can do is pray our ISP hears our cries for help over the horrible muzak playing while we’re on hold with customer service, keep calm and, um, read…or something. Just promise me this: if we don’t make it through the night, tell the world our story. [climbs on horse, gallops down street] “Long live the true ethernet king!”


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Click me.

Is there a doctor in the house? No, I’m not having a heart attack. Oh my gosh, am I having a heart attack?! No, I am not. I am, however, dangerously close to developing carpal tunnel syndrome, or, what we in the trade refer to as “internet gout.” For the uninitiated, carpal tunnel syndrome is a debilitating, horribly embarrassing affliction that only affects nerds and data entry trolls, like yours truly. It is caused by improper posture and- SNORE! Sorry. That sentence was so boring to type that I fell asleep typing it. But then I woke up because MY WRIST IS KILLING ME! I don’t want to name names, but I believe the culprit may be the specific kind of computer mouse I’ve been using – a certain brand name that rhymes with “Snapple” and was founded by a guy whose name rhymes with Jeeve Snobs! I am of course talking about the world famous, “Chapel Computers,” founded by the late, great Reeve Probs. Sure, they make spiffy products, but their computer mice – mouses? what’s the plural for computer mouse? moose? it’s moose, right?) – their computer moose stink! They’re too small and sleek for my big, meaty man-hands! Plus, the scroll wheels are smack-dab in the middle of the moose, which causes my middle finger to cramp and sends pain shooting up my arm. Damn you, Chapel Computer moose! Luckily, I was able to find a replacement: a certain type of mouse designed for PC’s by a company whose name rhymes with “Smell.” That’s right, I’m using a “Gel Computer” mouse, and I’m already feeling a difference! Now, if I could only do something about my chair!

The Count of Monte Craigslist

Take it.

Let’s make a deal. Or not. You are kind of scary looking, and I only just met you about fifteen seconds ago. You said you were interested in the toaster I had posted in the internet classifieds [Ed. Note: S&P has prohibited me from naming the specific website]. Granted, I posted this ad on…”Krügslist”…approximately three months ago, and had since been grappling with the reality that I would never sell the toaster. In fact, I was working through the third stage of grief, anger and bargaining, by verbally abusing the toaster while stress-eating an entire loaf of bread, when you called. So to say you caught me off guard is a bit of an understatement. But I guess none of that matters now that you are actually here. In my apartment. Looking really gritty and street-wise and like you probably own at least three crow-bars. I originally advertised the toaster for “$15 OBO,” which of course translates from internet classified speak to English as “five dollars.” You are offering me two dollars and thirty-five cents for the toaster, which is what I assume you had in your pocket alongside a set of brass knuckles. To be fair, the toaster is in less-than-pristine condition, but it still works, and is certainly worth more than the two dollars and ten cents you are now offering me because you just realized the quarter was in fact a loose bullet. You know what? You should just take the toaster, free of charge. Consider it a preemptive thank you gift for not stealing anything on the way out, and then selling it on…”Krügslist”…later tonight. Now please leave and forget my address.