iRant

While I hope this is the first and last fuckrant involving my new iMac, I'm almost certain it won't be.
Because I'm just a bubbling cauldron of Pissy Bitch Stew*.

I arrived home with my massive, so-goddamn-huge-that-it-doesn't-safely-fit-on-my-desk 27" iMac last night after work having stopped to pick it up from the Apple Store on 5th.
I unboxed this monster, marvelled at how spartan/smug their lack of stuff that's actually in said box, and then started clearing space.
I plugged everything in and then began the migration from my PC to my Mac.
Now, this isn't on the Mac, this is on the PC, but, don't worry, I'll aim my piss cannon back in Apple's direction in just a moment.
Realizing that it is about to be kicked to death as soon as I have everything I need off of it, at some point during the file transfer process (I was asleep), my PC (cute, little rascal that it is) decided to do one of those "hey, unless you click this thing RIGHT NOW we're going to restart your computer for some really really important updates that you need because they are important really, no matter what you're doing, is that cool? Too late we already did it!" things.
The fucker.
You'd think that in the year 2013, someone would fucking program a computer to first check if anything else is happening (if a program is running, if something is downloading, if fucking god damn motherfucking data is transferring) before it restarts itself or, if it absolutely MUST MUST MUST NOW OR IT WILL DIE do whatever it has to do that it thinks is SO fucking important, program it to start these interrupted operations back up.
But, no.
"Oh, you got a new Mac, huh? Niiice. What the processor speed? Oh wow, that is, like, 400 times faster than me! Hard drive? Oh, yes, very nice. And how big is the screen? Holy SMOKE that is big! And HD?! Phew! Well, enjoy that, I'm just going to shit in your closet before I go, thanks!"
So, I had to set all that shit up again, losing, oh, eight hours that could have been spent, you know, using my new computer.
But, as we all know, 8 is not as bad as 14.
Man.
What a random statement.
What could that pertain to?
Well...I will tell you.
14 is the number of hours it is going to take to transfer the scraps of music that I have on my old PC (I keep the bulk of it on an external hard drive) to my new one. Both are wired to the same network, so there's nothing in the way there, and, we're talking about, MAYBE 35 GB.
That's ABOUT two and a half GB AN HOUR.
What in the screaming wet FUCK would possibly cause this ti take 14 fucking hours?!
Is it goblins?
Pirates?

So.
There you have it; I'm bitching myself bloody BEFORE THE FUCKING THING IS EVEN SET UP.
When I left the house today, things looked as if they were going to be transferred by the time I arrived home this evening, so I'm expecting to find some cute little message on either the PC or the Mac (although, most likely the PC) letting me know that it forgot what data is and now it's going to restart itself, just to feel like it has accomplished something.
And it has.
It has cemented my decision that it will not be donated or refurbished, but, rather, stuffed with feces and explosives, and then thrown from the roof.
Because that is how I view my PC at this moment: an exploding ball of shit, falling through empty space.





* Which is called "Sklümpëšk" in Iceland.