A Rat, Coveting

I want it. I want it so badly. And I could have it in three little clicks--three little clicks!

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It would only cost me two hundred dollars (well, two-fifty after tax and shipping). It would be here next week. And it would be useful, and all--I could use it to watch that DVD I got for my birthday last year, just for starters. Then, after I inevitably broke it, I could use it as a paperweight, as a very uneven footrest, and as a drink-holder. It has a thousand and one uses. I need it.

Well, all right; it wouldn't be useful at all. It is, indeed, the antithesis of usefulness. It's a pointless, time-sucking moron machine. It's a Satanic hunk 'o' plastic, coughed up from Hell to my living room. It's a laser-driven anti-diligence gun, known to cause laziness in rats--but I really, really want it!

I can't have it. I won't buy it! It's a toy, and I'm too old for toys. It's made of crispety-crunchety plastic, and bad things happen to crispety-crunchety plastic around here. Remember that phone that used to live here, the one with the wee glowy bits on? Remember the pitiful cracky noises it made as I slammed the receiver into the cradle one time too many?--and the way the little glowy things flickered and died? That was sad. That was twenty bucks' worth of sad. For two hundred, I'd have a bloody tragedy on my hands. I can hear the tech-support call already:

Bemused Tech-Support Guy: Wait a sec--WHAT happened to it?

Me: Well, it was a bit of a software problem, to begin with--

B. Tech-Support Guy: Okay. Describe the software problem.

Me: I kept dying.

B. Tech-Support Guy (typing): Kept...dying. Okay. Got that. And then what happened?

Me: Well, then the CD tray fell off, and the controller burst open, and the little savey thing--

B. Tech-Support Guy: The memory card?

Me: Yeah, the memory card fell out the window, and I don't know where that went. And then--and then the whole thing sort of caved in, as if someone'd stamped on it.

B. Tech-Support Guy: Yeah, that's the part I'm not quite getting. I guess what I have to ask you is this: did someone stamp on it?

Me: Well...there might have been some inadvertent treading. You know, while trying to reattach the CD tray.

B. Tech-Support Guy: Ma'am...did you jump up and down on the product?

Me: In a manner of speaking, yes, I suppose one might put it that way.

(long silence)

Me: So...is this covered by my warranty?

Nope--no good. I still want it. I still want that Playstation II. Man, if you see me mooching round here tomorrow, tail between my legs, confessing to having bought it, shoot me. Shoot me dead! At the very least, abuse me most cruelly in the comments section. I don't deserve it! I am a horrible, horrible money-waster, and a smasher of small electronic devices. I am not to be trusted. If I didn't know the number by heart, I'd have someone take my Visa away.

I must immerse myself in work till the craving passes. I must repeat this mantra till it sinks in: Final Fantasy X-2 wasn't that great!

I must...I must replace the electronic craving with a food craving.

I want it. I want it so badly. And I could have it in one little phone call:

"Hi! I'd like to place an order for delivery--one large plate of chicken feet with extra tomato. Loads of tomato. Don't skimp on the tomato."

But then I'd get heartburn, and I'd curse my name to the heavens, and I'm not hungry anyway--the distraction isn't working. I still want the PS2. I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it, I WANT IT! Who do I remind myself of? Oh, that loathsome Baron from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang! Blimey. Hadn't thought of that one in years. (If I had a PS2, I could watch it on DVD. But I wouldn't, because, come on, can you see me spending $40 on a movie I've already seen?)

Speaking of greedy folks, Stella is making a most plaintive screechy noise, which means she'd like to be fed. That, I believe, is my cue to quit coveting and feed my damn rat.