Mr. Thomlinson's New Computer

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After breakfast on Thursday morning we ventured into the gift shop for the last time. Another set of parents might have purchased fluffy monkey-faced critters for their kids. Some parents might have chosen a cute little Barbie doll wearing a silky white dress for their daughter and a model of the building for their son. Given our experiences, we bought lollipops for the kids and refrigerator magnets for our parents.

What started as joyous vacation turned into a fucking disaster. We went home as wounded zombies so disillusioned and guilty that neither could forgive or forget what happened. Divorce was impossible because neither of us had the money to survive alone. The courts would have called it "competing sins."

As for the computer, it worked perfectly until I had to pay the bills one month later. Damn machine changed every amount entered and scrambled the payees. I did what any normal man should do. I erased everything then ran a complete virus scan. Of course, I called my virus protection service and used their remote sign-in service. Then I went through all the bills again. I got more fucked up results. This time I shut everything down. On Saturday, I brought it to the nerd emporium on the highway and had them check everything. According to their tests everything worked properly. Later that evening in my office I logged on and tried paying the bills one more time. Damn thing gave me more trouble. I had no choice. I shut it down then did my bills the old-fashioned way with checks in envelopes—snail mail. Even called every payee's 800 number to make sure there would be no penalties or problems.

On Sunday afternoon, I carefully put my computer in the bag and carried it outside. Along the way I grabbed my sledge hammer and the mower gas can. With a happy heart, I smashed that damn computer into ten thousand pieces then swept every piece into my barbeque. After adding a little gasoline and a match I watched the flames rise then subside. When the damn thing cooled and congealed into a mass of blackened plastic and metal bits I hit it with my sledge hammer until exhausted. This time I swept every piece into the garbage can. You had better believe I slept well that night.

Two weeks later I'm sitting at my desk reading the day's mail when a cold chill ran through me. There on my desk and off to the right was a twisted chunk of black plastic with tiny metal pieces in the matrix. Oh shit! The damn thing was slowly spewing distorted monkey-faced things that bounced like partially inflated basketballs while incessantly croaking, "Play Slotmania? It's free. Play Slotmania..."

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