compz ain ql..erm.mebbe de r..

I just gotta tell you..that I like computers a whole lot. They make my life easier. I likethe fact that there's a computer overseeing the internals of my micro-wave oven, my stereo, and my television, because there's less chance thatI can hurt myself with any of these devices. I sleep easier at nightknowing that when I get up in the morning I won't press the wrong buttonson my microwave oven and cause it to explode or something; the computerinside, like all intelligent, self-preserving beings, will prevent mefrom doing so. But, friends, there are just some places where computersdon't belong. I took my car in for a tune-up at the local garage. I won't mentionthe name of the company, but they sell tires and have a blimp. Now where I come from, a tune-up consists of new spark plugs, points,perhaps a new rotor cap, air and gas filters, and a timing adjustment.So I was a bit suprised when I saw... The Interrogator. The Interrogator was a large box roughly the size of a IBM 4341 CPUsitting on end. It was wheeled close to my car. From my vantage pointin the lobby of the station I could feel my car -- a small Honda Prelude-- shiver with fear. Several mechanics spent many minutes insertingthe tentacle-like appendages of The Interrogator into every orifice ofmy cowering Honda. Under the hood, up the tailpipe! My poor car.Until then, it had been a tailpipe virgin, and I still don't think ithas gotten over the trauma of that tune-up to this day. Once all the tentacles were firmly inserted, The Interrogator wasfired up. With a voice eerily reminiscent of Darth Vader, it said, yesI mean SAID: "Start the engine." The mechanics obeyed. For the next 15 minutes the computer inside The Interrogator examinedmy car. The mechanics stood close by, having coffee. In the lobby,I paced nervously. Finally, to my relief, the tentacles were removed. The Interrogatorproduced a written report of everything it thought was wrong with mycar, and the mechanics sprang into action fixing all those things. AsThe Interrogator was being wheeled away, I heard it say in that evil,deep voice: "We shall meet again, young Honda." The entire situation was quite disconcerting for me and my car, sowe're going to steer clear of Darth Vader and the blimp people from nowon. But without computers, you probably wouldn't be reading this, soI guess I still like them quite a bit. I just hope my microwave ovenisn't really a stormtrooper in disguise...

Rest In Peace
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