An Open Letter to My Own Computer

Dear Compy, (yes, I call my computer Compy)

I know you're reading this, because I'm using you to type it right now. You've been my faithful friend since 2006. I've used you to make hundreds of comics during this time, and even with three years under your belt, you still run the newest games as good as a new machine. So believe me when I say that this isn't personal.

Over the last six months, you have died on four separate, unrelated occasions, forcing me to defragment your hard drive (and in one case, buy you a brand new one) and reinstall everything each time. Compy... what the hell?

Now, I will grant you that the third time was significantly more my fault than yours. After all, I forgot to install any sort of virus protection that time. Let's not kid ourselves; with my internet surfing habits, that's the equivalent of going to Amsterdam without a condom. However, for all the other times, there's no excuse! It's getting irritating! And now, I'm unable to work on the comic for the next two days, because it'll take me that long to recover my files that I didn't have backed up (Carbonite, while a Godsend if your files are deleted unexpectedly, takes forever to recover things), not to mention the time it'll take to pir... er... install the Adobe Master Suite again.

Fortunately, I have a week and a half of buffer (hooray for Vyonafield's simple panel layouts) or this would be even worse. Nonetheless, I think it's time for an ultimatum.

Compy, I love you as much as a man can love a machine without it getting creepy, but this is the last straw. If you die again this year, I'm not resuscitating you. No, instead, I'm giving you a viking funeral.

In case you're not up on your Norse mythology, that means I'm SETTING YOU ON FIRE.

Then I'm going to take the ashes, mix them with what may or may not be my own feces, and mail them to Norton.

I'd put in a photoshopped picture of you on fire to further illustrate my point, but I DON'T HAVE PHOTOSHOP RIGHT NOW!

Real blog entry next week. Too angry to do one now.

THIN ICE, COMPY!