The Misadventures of a Drunken Laptop

chip is drunk and is sorry for any offence caused: "apologies"

He’s sick. No, that’s not a moral judgement but a statement of fact. He’s ill. He spent the night downing can after can of Irish stout. He was amusing at first, telling stories and jokes with great enthusiasm but by the time he started on his second six-pack (of half litre cans) he was already incoherent. Despite losing control of most of his bodily functions he managed to maintain the motor skills necessary to open, hold, drink from and crush each can. What a laptop! I was considering entering him in drinking contests as I pottered off to bed last night. Such notions flew out the window when I saw the state of Chip this morning. He looks like a cow ate him, chewed the cud and then vomited him up before a farmer (presumably the farmer who owns this fictional cow) came along and hosed him down with manure. Stale manure.

Speaking of vomiting, Chip did a lot of that this morning. That’s not all; he spent plenty of time on the toilet. The runs, the trots, the scutters, whatever you want to call it: yes, Chip had diarrhoea! Now, ladies and gentlemen, who do you think ended up cleaning the toilet? It wouldn’t have been so bad if I didn’t have to fish out a half dozen floating widgets that were partially submerged in the bowl. The little SOB made a point of swallowing them last night to show off, as if the screenstands* weren’t enough. Grrr …


* Well laptops don’t have hands you know!

… or more accurately, Chip under the covers! I spent a few hours playing Tetris with Chip the other evening. Yes, the exciting life I live I hear you cry – but hey, as far as I’m concerned Tetris sharpens your mind by promoting quick thinking, much like when you’re forced to “fabricate” excuses on the spot to keep your mother-in-law in check. (I can't tell you how many cases of the flu, the 24-hour vomiting bug and outright leprosy I've suddenly contracted over the last few years.) Handily it also gives Chip the chance to do a fast paced keyboard workout (very necessary given all the weight he’s been putting on as a result of recent binges). A healthy keyboard is a healthy mind, as they say. After our workout Chip told me that he was tired and needed to take a rest to recharge his batteries. He had worked hard and we did manage to get a place on the high score table so, thinking no more of it, I saw him off to bed and went about my business. I could pretend that I sat down to read one of the classic novels of 19th century literature but Desperate Housewives was on and who am I trying to kid here? A little later on, during the commercials, I went to check up on Chip. As I opened the door (yes, I knocked first), I saw him peeping out from under the duvet cover and noticed him looking a little off colour. I asked him if everything was alright. The manner in which he mumbled his way to an answer raised my suspicions. Upon further investigation is turned out that the little rogue had been getting quietly sloshed* on my Irish whiskey. You know, I’m not that upset about the fact that he drank the whiskey or even that he drank in bed. My problem is that the greedy son of a bitch didn’t offer me a drop!

* that would be getting drunk for all you innocents out there