Oh, Chromebook. I heard you’ve restarted unexpectedly . . . again
And that’s OK. I’m not annoyed!
I love restoring all my previous apps
It’s one of the many things I love about you
I love that you don’t work unless you’re plugged into the wall
It doesn’t make you a needy bitch at all
I love taking you off life support
In my head, it causes you to say the same phrase I do every time you prove your uselessness to me
“I’m dead.”
I love that four tabs open at once seems to be your limit
Don’t listen to the others; four is a big number
I love that you are seemingly allergic to every Wi-Fi network to ever exist
Putting in the Wi-Fi password three times before you connect is our little fucking ritual, and it makes me feel so fucking connected to you
The only way I could be more connected with you is if you let me swiftly connect my fist to your screen, over and over and over again
I want to take you out every night
With a baseball bat — No, sorry, on a date
To the smash room
Where I could show you what RAM really means
.
.
.
With a baseball bat
