by Tim Schelhaas
Everyone had a perfectly normal desktop computer, except Jim. His computer spoke, screamed, chanted, and held him in very low regard.
"If I had a penis," it often said, "I'd totally smash that hot sister of yours."
Ever since his computer had inexplicably gained consciousness, Jim had attempted to get rid of his unwanted, digital guest.
He had bought new computers, from numerous brands running on different operating systems, but sooner or later they all came to life,
acting as a vessel of the same bothersome host; as if a spirit from the internet kept coming back to torment him.
"I'm back you little bitch," was usually how it reintroduced itself, before continuing with something along the lines of "let's crash a party and fuck some hoes. God, I wish I had a penis."
A few months later, Jim was looking at spreadsheets on his screen and felt numb. He simply couldn't take it anymore.
When his computer demanded to watch porn for the eleventh time that day, he snapped: "Let me just, you know, for once, read my fuck-FUCKING spreadsheets, mate."
For a moment, there was silence. Then his PC said: "You know what? I'm totally going to possess a robot. Dude, scientists ought to have given one of those a dick. You're boring anyway."
A click, a waggle, and it was gone, finally leaving Jim to his dull spreadsheets. Still, to this day, Jim sometimes looks back and wonders: what the fuck was that all about?