I just got sucked into watching a YouTuber who’s entire career seems to consist of bashing anything and everything anybody does – and they have somehow become internet-famous through doing it (although “famous” is of course a relative term). I can imagine when they started out it was the typical reactionary bullshit that most kids spout in their mid-to-late teens. Now they are in their mid-to-late 20s? Not so much.
How can I get the last half hour of my life back?
In other news, I returned to work today. I sometimes wish I could tell you about some of the projects I work on, because they’re sometimes interesting (yes, I know – “for a given value of interesting”). My family never ask what I have been up to during the day – not because they wouldn’t understand – more because they are not interested. At all. As far as they are concerned, I dick around with computers all day. And that’s why I got a phone call at 5pm, asking why the internet might not be working.
“Oh, hang on – I’ll just wave my Doctor Strange ring at the wall, and step into our back room”.
And no, I didn’t say that. I actually said:
“Is the phone line crackling?”
“Then the cat has probably peed on the broadband socket again.”
Yes – our entire online existence has been reduced to a dependency on an incontinent cat. Actually, that’s unfair. He’s a cat, and we all know cats are assholes, don’t we. He probably followed cat logic, which determined something like “oh, that guy that feeds us EVERY MORNING also looks after the computers in the house – you know – like the Chromebook the female one uses all evening instead of letting us sit on her lap. WE MUST STOP THE CHROMEBOOK”. The cat then spent several years studying our behaviour, and determined that the source of the Chromebook’s unbending power comes from the plugsocket by the front-door. What better way to disable the internet than pee on it.
It would be funny if it wasn’t true.
Now we have a telephone engineer coming out on Monday (I’ll have to work from home AGAIN), and I’ll have to try and clean the hallway sufficiently that he doesn’t discover our CAT PEED ON THE WALL SOCKET, and charge us for it.
Being fair, the nice Indian man on the telephone support line did explain that most broadband faults occur between the house and the exchange. I didn’t tell him about the cat though.
Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a TV programme I’ve been waiting to watch all evening – a new BBC adaptation of Dracula. I’ll be the one hiding behind a cushion in the corner of the lounge.