This is my MacBook. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My MacBook is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.
My MacBook, without me, is still pretty shiny. Without my MacBook, I am useless and not at all shiny and can’t watch Netflix in bed (which I love). I must type words into Pages. I must type words into email correctly or autocorrect may ruin my life. I must send that email before I receive another email or email overload may ruin my life. I will…
My MacBook and I know that what counts in this world is not the insane heat it generates in my lap, the fact that it is likely making me infertile, nor the smoke it sometimes makes when I leave it on all night under the blankets because I fell asleep watching Netflix. We know that it is the amount of Buzzfeed lists we get distracted by that count. We will browse…
My MacBook is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will push its buttons like a lover. I will learn its shortcuts, its hotkeys, its energy saver preferences, and its 15 Must-Have Productivity Boosting Apps of 2014. I will keep my MacBook charged and ready, even as I am caffeinated and ready. We will become part of each other, but not in a gross way. I promise not to put any of my parts inside of its parts. We will…
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Before the late Steve Jobs, I swear this creed. My MacBook and I are the downloaders of the Adobe Creative Suite. We are the masters of teh interwebz. We are the saviors of my career.
So be it, until victory is Apple’s and there is no aluminum left unbrushed.
(In case you’re unfamiliar with the Rifleman’s Creed, this is a parody of that.)