The Curse - Ressurected!

Today I get a message from my friend Bill:

"I've done something terrible!  

I need to talk to you right now!  

But not over any computer!"

My first thought:

"Crap.  He's killed a hooker."

I could only have been so lucky.  Helping a buddy dispose of a body would have been better news.  No, it's much worse than that.

Back in the day I had a computer.  Now, knowing what I do, I hesitate to even call it a computer.  It was more of a supernatural entity, a malefic being brought into my world to sow chaos and disruption.  It began as a 386.  A what?  A 386.  That's the kind of processor it had, the nervous system of the beast.  When I got it, I loved it.  You see, I'd just upgraded from a typewriter.  A shitty typewriter.  This computer, the ability to run Word Perfect (there was no number behind it, there was only one writing program and it was Word Perfect), was going to pave my way to author celebrity.  Little did I know...

Six months until it started randomly shutting off, deleting things, being a general pain in the ass.  It was concluded; it's weak, it needs more power.  We upgraded to 486.  It didn't help.  Motherboard fried four months later, needed more Ram.  More files lost.  I began to suspect something was amiss when it gobbled up a new Pentium (they were so shiny!) and laughed at me digitally.  This fiend masquerading in circuitry was being a real dick.  It was clearly cursed.

Bill and I named it Dicko and then we tried to kill it.

We threw it away, trashed the whole thing, got it a new body, Pentium 2, and moved the hard drive over.  Little did we know, the hard drive is Dicko's cold heart.  My video card died in weeks.  Problems persisted.  More writing, gobbled up, lost for eternity.  There were more upgrades, more attempts, all failures.  Eventually, it was decided, no component that had ever been connected to Dicko in any way could be used.  We tore it apart.  We spread the pieces.  We splashed them with holy water. 

Years pass.  My writing actually starts to take off.  And then, this message.

I get Bill on the phone, all the while wondering how I can get a wood chipper and large quantities of bleach out to Colorado and still manage my other projects, pregnant wife, frame shop, etc...

"I found Dicko."

I think my heart stopped.

"I hooked it up to my laptop.  

It's Dicko."

Clearly the demon has possessed Bill, drilled his nefarious wires into his skull.  He actually connected it to the Internet?  I would have rather heard that Skynet was real!  At least Skynet had an agenda.  Dicko is pure unadulterated chaos, destruction, and frustration.

If the beast really has taken over Bill I'm going to have to do something about it.  Soon.  Before it's too late.  For all our sakes.  He's one of my best and oldest friends, but, for the good of humanity, I just might have to put aside my feelings and take action.  With him out of the way I might be able send that infernal hard drive back to the pit of hell (assuming it hasn't grown limbs and laser eyes).

We'll see how this turns out.  I'll keep you posted!