101518 I don’t know why i find it so infuriating that it takes three tries to wake this stupid son of a bitching thing up. it’s harder to wake up with the fucking fingerprint thing than the clunky fucking imac is without it. it wakes up then goes right back to being locked. it fucking fights you every fucking step of the way. FUCK YOU APPLE. automation is the only thing good left about apple, and even that they’re trying hard to turn into stupid app brain dead choose froma menu we can make your computer do stuff bullshit. yeah, we know exactly everything anyone would ever want to do with a computer, so we “gave” you all those things. isn’t that special of us? all you have to do is choose one of the things that people use computers for and we’ll do all the thinking for you. nothing like taking a thing that used to be about logic and creativity and puzzles and unpredictability and total freedom, and turning it into a glorified TV that you can use to do your slave chores more expensively. yay. FUCK YOU APPLE AND EVERYONE ELSE. people are so fucking afraid of math, they have forgotten what a computer even is. It’s not a fucking toaster. It’s not a fucking appliance and it was never meant to be. If real people aren’t making cool things and sharing them with each other, then the whole thing is just a fancy cage. anyway. i’m mad i’m mad because i’m so tired and i’m sitting here doing this complete waste of time. i’m mad because megan can be so smart and suave and insightful and then turn around the next day and be such a fucking little goddamned baby about a piece of white bread, self-righteously arguing with cecilia over it like a fucking bitchy dog over a stupid bone. i’m mad because i work hard to get decent food in the house and all she wants to eat is bullshit fucking snacks and she gets so fucking mad when she doesn’t get her stupit little american convenience put my snacks in front of me way, and she fucking thinks it’s cute to not know how to prepare and eat real food. that fucking pisses me off to no fucking end. i’m mad because millie thinks it’s necessary to get up at five o fucking clock, which means i can barely get a couple of minutes of fucking silence and darkness and privacy before her stressed-out obsessing school-fearing oh my god i have to get up three hours early and spend three hours in the fucking bathroom and then come down and fucking bang around in the kithcen with all the fucking lights on and spew ice cubes everywhere and make all kinds of goddamned noise and light right next to my dad’s room that isn’t even really a room self comes down here and stomps all over my morning. it’s so fucking ridiculous that even five o’clock isn’t early enough for me to wake up and do this without feeling rushed, and i’m so fucking tired as it is. jesus christ, why does she insist on freaking out about every little god damned thing. i’m sure it’s schools’ and adults’ and society’s fault, but it still fucking pisses me off. i’m tired. i’m cranky and whiny and mad and tired and i just want to go back to sleep but in about two seconds she’s going to be down here turning on every fucking light and making every possible kind of annoying kitchen noise you can possibly make and i’m sure i’m going to miss all of them terribly when i’m an old man and they’re all gone and off battling the indifference of the world towards everyone who’s not rich and proper and obedient and perfectly well prepared to be exactly like everyone else. Here, you can choose from one of eight giant fucking house designs. Our starter homes here are about ten times as big as an individual’s luxurious mansion in many other countries, but it’s still only barely enough to get you in the club. The half-smiling, nasally, assuming you understand everything, sports loving, cheez-it chomping, five-paragraph-essay writing, fakely empathetic, proper makeup wearing, god fearing, sex fearing, rule following, utterly oblivious, job-having, college going privilege club where you learn, relentlessly, violently, and repeatedly, that everything you sit and peck out on a stupid fucking appliance keyboard is somehow important. somehow means something. is somehow correct and superior to all those grunting sweating people who didn’t pay their thousnads and thousands of dollars in club fees so that they could learn the correct sequence of things to tap out on their stupid cutesy little app keyboards, who didn’t learn the correct sequences of things to think when they look at cutesy cartoon porn on their little apps designed and sold for free by other members of the little club. once you buy your way into the little club, pretty much all you have to do to maintain membership is know without consciously thinking about it that you are morally superior to everyone who is poorer than you. If you ever start to suspect that you are just lucky, that you are just a normal person who was born in the right kind of giant generic house with a mini-van, an SUV, two cavernous garage doors facing the world, and a lush green boring lawn and well behaved dog and polite parents who know what to say when there’s anything related to sports, then you get a warning. If you fuck up again and stray outside the boundaries of the predefined pot holder and lego world that has been most carefully and painstakingly constructed for you--if you dare to think you could or even should possibly write your own program, make your own computer do something other than the choices on the cutesy app menu--if you get mad about the wrong things--if you fail to get mad at the right things--you may very well find yourself kicked right the fuck out of the club. and then what are you going to do? You don’t have any real skills. All you know how to do is peck away at a fucking keyboard and talk about all the stuff that makes you whiny and tired and confused, you poor thing, and mad. Good luck with that.