My computer has a virus. The virus is that anti-virus scans keep popping up. My computer could teach Alanis Morissette a thing or two about the real definition of irony.
Anyway, I spent two hours last night trying to fix it, to no avail. At one point I actually punched my computer in the face. I mean, in the screen.
“Who are you, Walter?” Jeff asked.
He meant Walter White, the cancer-stricken, increasingly violent chemistry teacher-turned-drug lord from Breaking Bad (which, as you may recall, we have become obsessed with).
I do not think he meant this as a compliment, like “I bet you, too, could cook 40 pounds of super-pure meth surprisingly fast if you set your mind to it, even though you barely passed your 9th grade chemistry Regents.”
I think he meant it like, “Chill the fuck out and stop putting the beat-down on inanimate objects.”
My husband is very wise. My computer, on the other hand, is useless.
It’s like ten thousand spoons, when all I need is a knife... you know? ;)