Laptop years are somewhat like dog years—one laptop year should be about ten human years. With the rapid advances in computer technologies, including processing speeds, what is current becomes outdated almost as soon as it leaves the factory. By that logic, my eight-year-old Toshiba laptop should not only be dead but should have reincarnated twice by now.
Old computers are also like old men—they become increasingly unmindful of decorum and impolitic. Mine, for instance, thrashes about mid-sentence and mid-surfing. That is akin to farting in public, something many old men do because a) They don’t care and b) They can’t hear or smell.
The gap between the key strokes and the laptop’s response is getting wider. I envisage a day very soon when its processor might take a couple of hours to type each letter. Commands just do not reach its ageing brain. It has that vacant look of an old man disdainfully disinterested in everything and yet required to be involved in it.
Another consequence of age is that my laptop is unable to rid itself of viruses and malwares quickly because of the diminishing immunity. For the past ten days or so an infuriating adware called SupraSavings has embedded itself into my system. It just pops up random ads and coupons on any page on the net. It creates ridiculous hyperlinks on random words which pop-up some stupid ads or coupons when my cursor rolls it over by accident. I have uninstalled the malware, reset my Chrome browser, restarted my laptop half a dozen times, shut it down and started it half a dozen times and yet the damn malware refuses to leave my system. If SupraSavings were a man, I would kick it in its groin with a steel-toed boot.
I am conscious that given the kind of degrading poverty that hundreds of millions of humans have to endure everyday for no fault of theirs, it is criminally obscene of me complain about my dying laptop. However, within my limited world a slow-performing or non-performing laptop has real pecuniary consequences. One has to keep splashing about trying to escape being fully consumed by that shark. As the laptop slips deep into its twilight and I flail my limbs in the treacherous waters of non-performance (Screw the terribly mixed metaphors—I take what I get for now), SupraSavings is doing anything but saving me anything. I am tempted to tell SupraSavings can go fuck itself but then it may hyperlink “fuck” to porn sites and offer coupons.