08
Aug
07

Alas poor Stinkpad!

William ShakespeareWednesday is usually the day I get my Micro Mart, which is good because I get then to see what they’ve published, and what I’m going to get paid for. I know that might seem a bit ‘commercial’, but I’m never going to get rich writing and getting what I do in is half the battle.
This is a typical week for my on the Mag, which I’ve written for since 1988. Their are three review, a group test and ‘Logging Off’ which I alternate with Leo. That’s about 13 pages in all, but that’s along way sort of my epic ‘Micro Mark’ issues where I’ve topped 30 pages. I did suggest once, rather stupidly, that I’d like one day to do the entire Mag, including all the news and the Experts sections…so ‘Ask Mark’ for six pages. But thankfully Simon Brew rejected the idea. That’s unusual because he’s usually up for my wackier ideas, like the one I had where I was going imagine I had a time machine, and could send products back through time to have famous people review them. And to prove the concept I wrote a review of the then IBM Thinkpad, crafted in Elizabethan English, in my poor imitation of the style of William Shakespeare….

Here is what I wrote, which explains entirely why I never wrote any more. Apologies to the Bard.

Be thou blest, Mr. Ibm. Ye able courier carried forth thine ‘Thinker Pad’ mechanism some six days past, and I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely.

Guidance proffered in ‘Users Manuscript’ made most virtuous companion. Within such wisdom of the ages, cured by the gods, enlightenment and illumination flowed with passion and haste. Delivered on to me the ‘on’ button, and forthwith dispensed its wondrous sanctum entombed within.

What majesty that is revealed in Mycrosoft’s the Orifice is truly a modern wonder, casting word and rhymes on a glowing page like shooting stars upon a winter night. But within its noble heart lies an evil and disturbing sprite, fashioned such as an ill made buckle. As I carried forth my duties tempted it to be summoned, casting ill comment on my very works and purpose. I felt no amusement of it.

By heaven , declining solace I persever thyne compass course. But alas, it did strike again, and again. “I prithee, dost thou fashion a sonnet? Pray you, let me help?”.

This eleven spirit mocks from within the Thinking Pad and would not be dispelled and travel hence.

‘I countenance not thy council, for under god and the Queen my title proclaimed is Bard!’ my protest to such point of rage became me that I swore in the manner known only to bawd women of Bankside. Not till morning fell did I banish the rascally knave, cast away by spells of hiding.

Once cleansed forth of this mischief, and proud with burning light the Thinker Pad did follow my bidding most honourably, and without delay.

Talk of the wonders of the ‘Thinker Pad’ abounded, such that many noble and villain alike descended on my door. As you did prithee, I declined them all audience, though Willaim Caxton did persevere as if driven by the very devil himself.

But alas, contentment quickly passed and travesty, nay! Tragedy beckoned. Taking well fed horses we did set a fine gallop yonder to the fair City of London, and did shout out to all assembled ‘Where set these fine WiFi hot spotteries?’. Witchcraft and dark forces abound in those parts, for we found not one in many hours rode! Close a tavern a mile west from traitor’s gate we stumbled on that oaf Raleigh, attempt to deflower some young maidens. Truly, is he not a lamentable puddle hiding rogue?

On my conscience, thy hand was racked and providence rose to strike him with the Thinker Pad from my noble steed.

Pleasures did soon dispel, for while that foul Jackanapes still warms his bones in mortal flesh, the virtuous Thinker Pad breathes no more.

Alas poor Thinker Pad, I knew him, and his demonic spirits.

William Shakespeare
thebard@globetheatre.co.uk

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