UNITED STATES—My master is quite beside himself today, and there was a slight, ever so slight, cleavage between him being able to further the adventures of Lupe. That which might be termed the unholy matrix of the password, which seems to be putting quite a muzzle on the intermittent and vicarious joys which come from being a humorist. That calling best seen as a distillery of all the gripes, plagues and outrages to which humanity is prone.
It brings him back to the Vesuvius state of ready to blow up at any moment and losing the grateful state from being litigated for some of my less forgivable antics, like the food delivery person nipped by I, Lupe, who turned out to be a most charitable soul.
Though, as a matter of fact, my master still gets shook if a call comes from Saugus, even if he’s no longer sure that was where my victim resided.
Today’s password imbroglio sullies the gradual mellowing of my pit-fullness and other symptoms of a tamer nature that bodes maturity. The yardstick long chains of random passwords and symbols are the antithesis of a memorable cyber-amulet that can be readily taken here there and everywhere, as our correspondent trots the globe from Watts to Downey and Yerevan and Minsk and Honolulu and Damascus and Abuja.
To add further immiserate the process, there is the captcha process where, heaven forbid my “master” should have to work his brain, he will face the daunting task of facing a series of animal images depicted in a manner reminiscent of that American master, Thomas Kincaid. For instance, click off the critters that have the same number of legs as the Black Stallion example. Or click off images showing the people doing captchas selections gnashing teeth and sticking hatpins in their eyeballs.
Don’t let me scare you, my “master” as he acclimates to my mellowing condition as semi-obedient pinball shall become reunited with his quasi-sane old self, surrendering every so often to a chuckle inspired by the human and canine condition.
To be continued…
