That Cornfuckin' Ol' Conficker

Hold onto your monitors, all's y'alls:

The Cornficker Virus approacheth tomorrow!

According to published reports in the news and tech world, it's going to cornfick your hard-drive forty ways from Sunday and it's not even going to take her out to dinner first, or send her a virtualflorist bouquet either.

I don't know much about computer viruses, but I know enough to know I don't want to become acquainted with Mr. Cornficker. My idiocy and naivette earned us a computer virus at work in October, and I was on the phone with "Raj" and "Ranoop" for over two hours trying to rid the computer of the bad curry it had ingested. It's a pretty amazing thing to watch your computer being virtually controlled by someone several continents away-- the cursor moving all around and windows opening and closing while you just sit there like an impotent d-bag.

Mrs. Apron was curious about why news about the virus is breaking prior to its arrival on the scene. I suspect that's happening because the virus's creator wants it that way. This bastard, or bitch-- but probably bastard, though I hate to be sexist-- is the one who's disseminating the information to generate buzz, and fear, for his work. And I'm sure creating a virus of this size is indeed a tremendous amount of work. In the respect that these worms create a fair amount of anxiety and nail-nibbling all across the world, the creators of these things really are kind of like terrorists: they create fear, instability and chaos-- the same as any bomb or mass shooting. The main difference is that, probably, no one dies from a computer virus.

The other difference, of course, is that the perpetrator gets to sit back behind the anonymity of his computer screen in his silk shirt and his mustache and giggle at all of us, sight unseen.

Well... um... fuck you!

I don't like you, Cornficker... man!

You hurt people's.... operating systems. Yeah. And you make us cry.

You, sir, are a four-star asshole. I'll bet your mother is very, very disappointed in you.

The thing is, these dinkle-dicked little twats are the same losers who wore sweatsuits in high school and squeezed their blackheads every morning before eating their Cinnamon Toast Crunch. They insisted on velcro sneakers well after they'd learned how to tie laces and they wore white tube socks with everything. Now, they're back.

While I'm not particularly fond of computer viruses or the terrorists who create them, I must say that, after witnessing my wife projectile vomit around a dozen times this past weekend, I'd much prefer getting a computer virus to getting a regular virus. Of course, ask me if I still feel that way tomorrow after Cornficker ficks my shit all up.

I'd also, come to think of it, rather be the victim of a computer virus than a shooting spree perpetrated by some societal malcontent. What the hell is going on with all these people recently taking out significant numbers of the overall population in a blaze of bullets? Whatever happened to sucking on your own tailpipe or hanging yourself in the basement? Has that gone totally out-of-style? Is just plain suicide passe? Do you really have to take eleven people with you?

Seriously, people. Let's all just get a grip, hold on tight, and calmly await our own private cornfickers.