Don't Go There, Don't Ask

I may not be the smartest cookie in the box, but most days I can work out what my computer is doing. Most days but not all.
And to all you PC nerds, bog off – go away and murmur amongst yourselves, and take all them IT managers with you.
I lost my belief in them IT bods a long way back.
Every one of them has the standard response. First, a shake of the head, rubs chin, sighs.
“Don’t know what you’ve done here.”
No sunshine, that’s why you are here, to sort it out.

And then they reach for the cables, and yank ‘em out.

“What happened?” you ask them.
“Don’t ask.”
No, don’t.

There’s a space inside every computer, its the ‘Don’t Go There’ zone.
And ‘Don’t Ask’, cos’ we sure ain’t gonna tell you.

My computer never tells me the answer either. For a space of around 4 days, it wiped various nifty applications out of my Word program.
No fonts, nope, just size 12, Times Roman, that’s it lady, take it or leave it.
I even lost the bloody dancing paper clip.

Life went on, and I tapped away in size 12, Times Roman, for a few days. Then it all came back, tra la la, here we are again.
“Where have you been then ?” I yell.
Don’t ask.
No, I won’t.