The only need for a Pentium is to run bloatware.

I


  went to the Downtown Artspace to salvage more stuff from the Frat Boy Machine, including the IBM PS/2 Model 80 that had "controlled" it. It's a nice piece of vintage computer history, with 9 Megabytes of memory and 140 Megabytes of hard drive. On my way back home, I dropped it off at Comet so I can install LINUX on it. I'm told it's the thing to do. I'd like to be able to surf the web and check my email at home without the annoying and seemingly pointless delays imposed by a kludgy, poorly-written commercial graphical user interface (Windows 3.11). Microsoft has done a serious disservice to the world by writing such horrible code. But on the positive side, I'm sure Microsoft's horrible code is responsible for the premature obsolescence of machines like the PS/2 Model 80, resulting in my now having one. In the absence of Microsoft code, such machines run very nicely. The only need for a Pentium is to run bloatware. And who needs bloatware when there's LINUX?

He'd been to the hospital because his nazi skinhead lover had broken his ribs in a fight.

I


n the evening, I came home to find Matthew Hart's bisexual redneck friend CJ hanging out in the Kappa Mutha Fucka living room. He'd been to the hospital because his nazi skinhead lover had broken his ribs in a fight. But CJ had abandoned his usual Waynesboro friends at the hospital when they showed more interest in his morphine prescription than they did in him. Hearing this sad story, I assured CJ that he was worth more than his prescriptions.

He babbled on endlessly about lots of things: the Vietnam War, his ancient nearly-dead mother, all the money and possessions he stands to inherit, and the horror stories of redneck friends who had squandered their inheritances in matters of days. Most of this was infused with generous amounts of typically redneck paranoia. I nodded my head, said uh huh, and tried to watch television. Then I took a long prework nap.

I


  awoke to the sound of a powerful downpour outside. It never slacked for a moment, and I was forced to ride my bike through it to go to work. As I rode through overflowing streets, the rain pouring down relentlessly, I developed a desperate feeling. It seemed I was on the edge of drowning. The water was falling so fast that I began to doubt that there sufficient air mixed in with it to keep me alive.

So here I am at Comet several hours later. My clothes are mostly still wet. I have them hanging by the backs of various computers so the cooling fans can help them dry.

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