Doom, Despair, and Agony Untold

Bad news, Ladies and Gentlemen. As I was preparing the best post that has ever been posted in the history of postdom my computer, whom I thought was my friend, has apparently committed suicide. I’m not sure what caused it. It seemed to be in good spirits, it had a clean desktop, fresh clean electricity to sustain it, it showed no signs of instability but it just shows you never can really see into the heart and mind of someone you love.

I am rushing it into a computer trauma center in the vain hope that they can slap the paddles of life against its little ports and bus connectors and revive it, but the future looks dark indeed. I was considering writing in longhand on real paper, regardless of the cost in trees, each and every one of you around the globe that reads the blog today’s post, but my printers connected to my computer which is now apparently in computer Valhalla and due to an old war Injury I cannot write cursive for more than a few moments. Plus I’d have to hand draw all the images I was going to post and, well, it’s just not going to work out.

Fortunately I keep my images in a specially lined, pixel retentive shoebox under my bed so they were not affected. I can continue to receive email on my phone and iPad from which I’m writing this tear-stained message but I cannot post to the blog as neither of these devices have access to my images.

Needless to say, this takes down the Institutes entire communication system and we are unable to continue our good work until we are back up and running. “Well why don’t you fire up the Institutes Cray computer that you got such a good deal on, then?” you might ask. Well we can’t that’s why. The key to open the NSA style, lead filled door with its three Schlagel keyed alike padlocks is stored in a secret encrypted folder called ” key to Cray Computer door, do not open if you’re a spy” and it’s on the dead computer. I told you this was a bad day.

I’m off now to rush Clemont, that’s our computers name, to the Last Chance Computer Center to see if there is any hope at all. I fear the worst though and may have to resort to drastic measures. Clemont’s last wishes were to be melted down and made into a coffee cup so he would always be on the desk next to the action. I will see that that happens. So, Don’t cry for me Argentina, I will be back,  I will be strong, we are The Institute.

I will try to keep you posted as to when we will return but it will be sketchy. Thank you for all your thoughts and prayers in this dark terrible time.