Ernie blinks at me. “Then…didn’t you violate your laptop by forcing Ubuntu onto it?”
“I installed Ubuntu, if that’s what you mean.”
“And it was consensual? Your laptop accepted it willingly?”
“Well, I had to turn off Secure Boot in the BIOS, and I recompiled the kernel to get basic sound support, but—”
“Rape,” Ernie interrupts, shaking his head.
“I didn’t rape my laptop!” (I can’t believe I just said that out loud.)
“You vicious monster.”
“Go home, Ernie.”
“Think about it, jungle boy,” Ernie continues. “Have you or anyone you know ever seen an NES Classic in real life? On a store shelf? In someone’s living room?”
“Exactly! No one seems to have one, yet all these alleged gamer types are on social media posting pics of the NES Classics they supposedly managed to buy just before they sold out. They manage to hold onto their NES Classic just long enough to take a pic and post it on Twitter. Then they sell their Classic on eBay, immediately erasing all purchasing history and conveniently losing any and all receipts that might prove they’d actually bought a Classic in the first place.” Ernie pretends to wipe his butt with his finger, holds the finger up for me to sniff. “Does it smell like shit to you yet?”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed. My feet dangle halfway to the floor. “What happens if I’m stuck in this skin? Will I eventually grow up?” I think for a moment. “The real Tommy Carlton died when he was in his late sixties—does that mean I’ll die in my late sixties, too? Or will I grow out of my skin before then, gradually splitting at the seams like some kind of grotesque Hollywood creature effect?”
“That would be so cool!” Ernie exclaims.
“No, it wouldn’t! And what are you even doing in my room?”
I lunge forward, yanking my laptop away from him and cradling it in my arms. The screen’s all smudged, and there are crumbs all over the keyboard, and oh, geez, he’s got, like, two-dozen browser tabs open, has somehow completely rearranged my Unity desktop so that every window has a PornSmurf search bar attached to the top. Launcher is nowhere to be found; when I hit the Windows key, the Dash pops up showing various porn icons instead of my usual apps. “What…have…you…done?”
From Mini’s entry in Theo’s Book of Brilliant Lists—“a look at the various postures and positions employed by Theo’s friends during homework or computer use.”
Three new SuperMegaNet episodes have slipped past my blogging radar over the last month or so:
Without meaning to, I’ve dropped Theo into a brief story arc during which he’s stuck wearing the skin of an RKO Pictures-era Tarzan boy—for no other reason than it’s probably everyone’s worst nightmare to suddenly become black and white and nearly naked while in the teacher lounge.
I’ve never been much of an Apple fanboy to begin with, so I’m not too broken up over the new MacBook Pro updates, and how all the ports and SD card reader have been replaced with a Touch Bar. It’s been obvious for a while now that Apple has shifted its focus from content creators to content consumers—hence the growing need for touch in any way, shape, or form. I’m not against touch input. Touch is perfectly fine for phones and tablets, but for laptops and desktops (you know, those devices you use to actually do some work as opposed to surfing porn and YouTube), it’s failed time and time again to be anything more than a novelty. And at the moment, that’s all the Touch Bar is: a novelty. I just don’t see how having to look away from your screen at regular intervals is going to improve your productivity.
But there is potential for the burgeoning technology revolution that is genital authentication:
Ernie stands, unzips his pants, takes out his wang, and, awkwardly maneuvering his hips into position, presses it along the length of the Touch Bar.
The amazing thing: no one seems to give a shit.
Dumbfounded, I ask, “What are you doing?”
“Duh. Using the Touch Bar to unlock my new MacBook Pro.”
“With your dick?”
Ernie blinks. “How else am I supposed to unlock it?”
“I don’t know—a password, maybe? A thumbprint? Anything but your dick?”
“Passwords are so 2015.”
The girls nod in agreement.
“It’s true,” Lily says. “2015.”
View Ernie’s demo here.
My deepest apologies for allowing another new SuperMegaNet episode to leak unto the Interwebs. I’m currently working with local law enforcement to get it removed as quickly and with as little collateral damage as possible. In the meantime, the obligatory excerpt:
I follow Thrill-Kill down the hall. But instead of heading toward her office, we end up in the teacher lounge.
“Budget cuts,” she explains on seeing my curious expression. “The Boca Linda administration believes it’s more cost-effective for my office to be hosted on a SuperMegaNet server. Meanwhile, the football team just got new uniforms. Priorities.”
We sit at an empty table toward the back, and Thrill-Kill takes out her phone, fires up the SuperMegaNet app and hits “visit”—
—delivering us onto a cheesy RKO jungle treehouse movie set.
In black and white.
With me skinned as Tommy Carlton, she as Dorothy Hart—you know, Joey and Jane, from those ancient Tarzan movies?
W. T. F.
The premise: Theo loses his shirt (and gains a skin) during an awkward counseling session with Mrs. Thrailkill. Read the full episode here.
New SuperMegaNet posted at the expense of needy third-world children:
Dropping onto my hands and knees, I peer under the stall doors—at just about the exact same moment two more boys decide to enter the restroom. With cockroach-like reflexes, I scurry into the third-from-left stall, which is empty, and freeze in place, listening, waiting, hoping to God no one saw me. Jeans are unzipped; the sound of urine trickling echoes against the tiled walls; in the stall beside mine, someone’s ass puffs the word “bouffant!” during a bowel movement.
The premise: Theo learns the hard way that an ounce of cure is worth a pound of cock. Well, not really. I just wanted to say that. Read the full episode here.
SuperMegaNet, ep. 92 is up. Yes, that’s Mini quoting a line from the awesomeness that is Rush’s “BU2B.”
“Murphy’s Likelihood,” Mini continues, “is an offshoot of Murphy’s Law. Where Murphy’s Law dictates that what can go wrong, will go wrong, Murphy’s Likelihood states that what goes wrong will occur sooner rather than later. Let’s say you get a new pair of glasses. The odds are high that you’ll damage them in some way at least once in the first year of ownership. The odds are even higher that you’ll damage them in the first half of said year rather than in the second half. Especially if you can only afford to replace your glasses once a year. That’s Murphy’s Likelihood.”
The premise: When Jan inadvertently flashes Beta and Mini, the duo explain to him the intricacies of Murphy’s Likelihood. Read the full episode here.
Looks like another SuperMegaNet episode just slipped past quarantine:
Look at Jan 2.0. The jockettes are all over him, oohing and awing and squeezing his biceps, palpitating his pecs, literally absorbing him like two giant girl-shaped amoebas. I’ve let them have that side of the table—not because they ousted me or anything, but because I prefer this side. Always have. And anyway, I don’t need to be all up in Janny Boy’s shit. So with his fancy new skin he’s ditched his ridiculous orange frizz for a natural brown buzzcut. So he’s sporting a pair of earring studs. So his physique is all American Ninja Warrior. I don’t see what the fuss is about. It’s not like he can turn water into soda or feed the entire cafeteria with a single loaf of Hawaiian bread.
Crap. I could go for a loaf of Hawaiian bread right about now.
The premise: The gang acclimates to having lunch with Virtual Jan. Meanwhile, Theo defends his decision not to buy Ernie any snacks. Read the full episode here.