I installed this little fucker on every computer I could get my hands on when I was a kid. I loved him. He told jokes, sang songs, and he’d read anything you wanted him to out loud with his robot voice.
Every once in a while, he’d ask to be sent to some kind of jungle school where he could learn new jokes and songs, but it cost real money, and I wouldn’t have dared to ask my mom for virtual monkey jungle school tuition. She hated him from day one. I don’t know why. He’d just pop up and try to sing to her when she was reading her Christian Evangelist chain mail in Outlook.
Turns out, he was adware all along, and was apparently selling my web browsing info to shady companies in secret. He eventually got caught, and I think they euthanized him. He never really loved me, I know. But I still love him. If I knew anything about programming, I’d resurrect him somehow without the spyware. He could be rehabilitated. I know he could.
Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s so clear that the two of you, on some level belong together. As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different. You just work, whether you understand one another or you’re in love or you’re partners in crime. You meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the strangest circumstances, and they help you feel alive. I don’t know if that makes me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheer blind luck, but it definitely makes me believe in something.