You scare the everliving shit out of me.
Why are you so eerily smart? You shouldn’t have the ability to download things without me telling you to. You shouldn’t light up at night like a sentient transformer and start working without my permission. And you really shouldn’t use your Wi-Fi abilities to search around the apartment for other electronics you can ‘hook up to’.
What if I didn’t want you to hook up with the PS3? Why would that even be a thing you did? What the fuck do I want printed off of my Netflix account - a picture of Gillian Anderson poking at sci-fi goo? You’re like a printer-whore - you do everything and try to attach yourself to everyone.
I just found out you have your own e-mail address. I feel it necessary to tell you I don’t have my own e-mail address, printer.And yet, you do. Aside from all of that, you can print sudoku, crafts, model cars and mazes that you have saved to your brain.
And yet, with all of this technological wonderment and loose wi-fi-ing, your sundry apps and downloaded programs, when I tell you to print off a simple fucking recipe, you instantly freeze up like a cold maid. Finally, begrudgingly, after I push three or four buttons (which feels like awkward foreplay), you spit out a document not unlike a colorblind test.
Fuck off, you advanced piece of shit.