“Hurt My Computer”
I want to buy a software
program that, when run, causes my computer to suffer grievously, though not
permanently.
When my screen freezes or
turns blue, I want a special button I can push to make the CPU start squealing
like a pig.
I want a device that stores
an electrical charge in my telephone. For every minute I spend on hold waiting
for technical support to answer, the charge would increase in intensity. When
the guy from tech support finally answers, the electrical bolt of energy would
be discharged into him. This should not affect my ability to hear what’s going
on at the other end of the line, of course.
And a special function would
allow the volts to double every time a tape-recorded message urges me to
continue holding. “Your call is important to us,” the caressing voice always
claims.
I want my phone to be
outfitted with a translation program which will reconstitute this irritating
reminder into the truth: “Actually, we already have your money, so we couldn’t
care less.”
Our technical support
department consists of two college kids, both of whom are busy playing Doom.
Eventually, one of them will come on the line, but it will be the one who
doesn’t speak English.”
I want my modem to sense
when my PC has committed an “illegal function” and issue a warrant to arrest
Bill Gates.
When my system crashes and I
lose a file that has taken me more than an hour to create, I want someone from
the computer company to come out and retype it for me.
I don’t understand why new, “upgraded”
software creates files that cannot be read by old, reliable software with the
same name. Is there no one in the computer industry who has noticed that word
processor files all look alike once they are open? Why can’t 6.0 recognise a
7.0 file? It’s all just words, isn’t it?
There should be a rule that
when software engineers buy a new car, their old cars should cease to function.
If they don’t understand why this is happening, they should call me and I will
explain it to them.
How come when my computer
catches a virus, I’m the one who misses work?
I want to know why my
printer always jams on the last piece of paper or the last sheet of checks.
When this happens, it makes me want to put sandpaper into the manual feed and
print the Emancipation Proclamation.
I am really tired of hearing
about all the things that happened with Y2K. Why didn’t anybody ever ask these
computer programmers how in the world they didn’t know the year 2000 would
follow the year 1999? Software engineers are supposed to be pretty bright
people - what did they need -a memo or something?
I bought a program that was
supposed to tell me if my computer files are Y2K-compliant. The program
wouldn’t work because - get this – my CD-ROM player is too old (I bought it 34
months ago). The manufacturer doesn’t sell an “updated driver.”
Thus, to find out if my
computer is Y2K-compliant, I need to buy another computer.
Now I’ve learned that my PC
no longer “recognises” my floppy drive! How could they not recognise each
other? They live together in the same little box!
The second one sighed and shook his head. “Not good, I
can’t pay my bills, my health isn’t good, my kids
don’t respect me, and my wife is leaving me.”
The first shepherd replies, “Well, don’t lose any sheep over it.”
The tower responded, “Who is calling?”
The aircraft replied, “What difference does it make?”
The tower replied “It makes a lot of difference. If it is an
American Airlines flight, it is 3 o’clock. If it is an Air Force
plane, it is 1500 hours. If it is a Navy aircraft, it is 6 bells. If it
is an Army aircraft, the big hand is on the 12 and the little hand is
on the 3. If it is a Marine Corps aircraft, it’s Thursday
afternoon.”
Having just moved into his new office, a pompous new colonel was sitting at his desk when an aviator knocked on the door.
Conscious of his new position, the colonel quickly picked up the phone,
told the aviator to enter, and then said into the phone, “Yes,
General, I’ll be seeing him this afternoon and I’ll pass
along your message. In the meantime, thank you for your good wishes,
sir.” Feeling as though he had now sufficiently impressed the
young enlisted man, he asked, “What do you want?”
“Nothing important, sir,” the aviator replied. “I’m here to hook up your telephone.”