💻 How I Killed My Computer with Good Intentions

💻 How I Killed My Computer with Good Intentions

It all started so innocently.

“I’ll just clean my keyboard real quick,” I said.
Famous last words. I had no idea I was about to enter the Bermuda Triangle of tech disasters.

Five minutes later, half the keys were gone. The spacebar was missing entirely—probably under the couch, possibly in another dimension.
I stared at the keyboard like it had personally betrayed me. My cat, of course, walked across the desk like it owned the place, and suddenly my laptop was in airplane mode. No, literally. Airplane mode. I don’t even own a plane.

I Googled a solution on my phone.
One article suggested I “gently blow air into the ports.” Gently. Right. I ended up inhaling more dust than the laptop, accidentally launching a cloud of keyboard confetti across the room. The Wi-Fi blinked three times like it was laughing at me.

Then came the audio.
Every time I opened Chrome, the laptop played a sound that could only be described as “a dying harmonica slowly learning regret.”
The mouse pointer, as if possessed, started moving on its own, drawing what appeared to be a bizarre abstract goat.
My printer, ever the drama queen, ejected a single sheet of paper with “WHY” typed in Comic Sans.

Desperate, I tried the universal fix:
I unplugged everything and slammed the power button. Nothing happened. I held it down for ten seconds. Still nothing. I prayed, whispered apologies to the motherboard, and even tried a tiny voodoo chant I read on a forum somewhere. Finally, the screen flickered back to life… only to display a single pop-up: “YOU FOOL.”

The dog gave me a long, judgmental stare. I swear it rolled its eyes.
My coffee mug teetered on the edge of the desk, a casualty I refused to mourn. I looked around and realized that everything on my desk now had a personality of its own. The sticky notes were plotting a rebellion. The pens had formed a union. Even the stapler glared at me with malice.

I surrendered. I accepted that my laptop, my cat, and possibly the entire room were now sentient. I walked away, leaving it all behind… and that’s when I noticed the living room lamp had started blinking in Morse code. I think it spelled “HELP.”

Moral of the story: If it ain’t broke… give it ten minutes, and it will break in spectacularly hilarious ways. Also, never trust your cat around electronics.