It would complain about how much abuse it has copped. It is bedecked with star stickers, a relic from my exam block "think i'm goin' a little bit nuts here" penchant for covering everything within reach (including Lucas) with little shiny stars. They are the same ones parents used to stick next to kids' names when they were good, or did the washing up, or - in our family - had another poisoning-free day. Gotta love them.
My keyboard would also complain about the absence of the shift key. The plastic bit that tells you its a shift key came off in some war I had with it.
it might also have a whinge about being pelted with juggling balls this morning, as I refused to move from my spot by the lappy to practise. But my keyboard is just acting like a weak little girl.. It's only ever suffered flesh wounds.
however I am glad my keyboard does not speak. It would mostly carp on about how I never write anything worthwhile with it, and just post random, meaningless twaddle on the net to clog up the internet-bloggish-drainage. Which, as you can see from the quality of this post, is So Not True!
Good little keyboard, you're so fine! I'm going to pelt you with juggling balls all the time!
Good little keyboard, you're a star! I'm going to throw you, oh-so-far!
*maraccas start playing*
[END COMMUNICATION]
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment