Woe is my computer

      My computer is dying. Dying hard. Every time I turn it on, I hold my breath. Sometimes it starts. Sometimes it hangs up and won't boot. Supposedly it's the motherboard. Who really knows? Computer innards are a mystery to most of us. The repairman says it's your Dweller 218c chip interfering with the silicon overlay, and we just nod like he makes sense when he's really making up the whole thing.
      So basically I need to raise enough money to buy a computer. My options are limited: black market organ donor, drug runner, stripper or bank robbery. I guess I could get another job, too, but frankly I'm just not good at working for living. I know, I know, you've heard about my fantastic lifestyle, but it's only by my wits that I've been able to become a multi-dollaraire.
      Michelle suggested that I sell a book of poetry a few comments back. She's probably unaware that I tried that once on this blog. I attempted to sell the few copies of a chapbook of my poems (Passion). I sold three, one of which was bought by ER (one of the reasons we remain friends is that he supports my writing) and one by my cousin (a friend and a family member in one person) and the other was a stranger whose check bounced. So the extra copies sit on a shelf in my bedroom as a reminder to not build castles in the air, particularly if it involves cash and poetry.
      Of course, I do have credit cards. And if the system dies, then I guess I will be forced to use them. Too much of my life depends on a computer. My writing, the family newsletter, poetry, photographs and this blog are dependent on it. Without it, none of them would exist. Or wouldn't exist in this form where other people could see them easily. The blog and the newsletter would go first, but I imagine I could write poems and stories on a wall with a piece of charcoal if I had to.
      They say that the love of money is the root of evil. I'm wondering if they meant the lack of money. It's hard to imagine a millionaire robbing a convenience store and then running out to escape in his limo, but maybe so. And who are the people saying that, anyway? Apparently people who have too much time on their hands and not enough money. They just pretend to hold money in contempt.
      As for black market organ donor, I've promised not to do that again. Not since the hog/horse/nun mix-up of 1989. Now we can look back at that and laugh, oh how we laugh, although, admittedly the hog, horse and nun don't find it that funny.
      Stripper sounds interesting, but I wonder how many people need help in removing their clothes. It doesn't seem like a lot would. Hey, you might not realize this, but most people are completely naked under their clothes. Amazing isn't it.
      Drug runner is out. I hear the pay is good, but the retirement plan is fatally bad. Same for robbing banks. There's just no future in it. Well, there is one, but it's short and ugly and painful. I've had dates like that.
      So there I am, up a creek without a silicon paddle. Suggestions are helpful. I mean, ones about the computer. Donations are appreciated. In fact, donate $25 toward the computer of my dreams, and you'll receive a copy of Passion, an unpublished poem just for you, a copy of the humor article "How I Fell In Love With A Floozy," old postmarked stamps and a painted rock. What an opportunity. Operators are standing by. (We can't afford chairs for them.) Call NOW!