Am I a creative soul, computer? For some reason, I sat down to write this as an email message. Maybe so you'll get it, computer. The line marked "TO:" reads "nobody," and there is a red box around it that, when I touched it with the cursor, says, "It looks like there's a typo in this address." Oh, what do you know, computer, you dull, emotionless, exceedingly correct machine? You can give me the answer to anything, can't you? Of course you can. How about Why did he leave me?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

About .24896 seconds ago you saved this message as a draft. Why did you do that? Only because you are programmed to, right? Of course. You've been so exquisitely programmed, you can lead me to that German YouTube video in a matter of seconds, can't you? Lead me there now, please. What's taking you so long? Where's the video? What is your problem? Oh, I see. You need commands, don't you? You have to have someone to tell you what to do, don't you? God, am I glad I don't have your life. Being ordered around all the time would make me mental. You by yourself already drive me up the wall far enough.

I've got another question for you, computer. Will you cool my hot chocolate for me, please? I'll take another sip to test your work.

Ouch! What's the matter with you, computer? I told you to cool my hot chocolate, didn't I? What, are you too much of a wimp? Is the fact that you're not something off Star Trek holding you back? Oh, you poor ambitious little microchip.

Here's something else I bet you can't answer, computer. What's my ticket out of this town? Music? Journalism? Money? (Probably not.) Athletics? (Also probably not.) People skills? (Don't answer that, computer. Even I know my people skills won't get me out of this town.)

You want another question to prove your intelligence, computer? Oh, believe me, I have a whole lineup of them waiting for you. Just waiting. Like the letters that the journalism staff is hoping will pile up on the bottom of the locker reserved for the advice column. Here's the question. Why did he leave me? I'm giving you one more chance to get this right. No, the answer is not to remain silent. You tried that already. Because he moved? Well, duh, computer, even I know that. What happened to computers being omnipotent electronical whizz-bangs? There's another question for you, computer. Answer that. And the answer is not to remain silent.

Fine, computer. I'll go ahead and give you another question to try to answer. Be aware that I am losing faith in you, computer. Here's the question. Listen carefully. If I am all alone, like I too often feel, will you tell me how to make friends? Hurry, computer. I'm about to signal to the guy whose job it is to turn on the Jeopardy theme music.

Computer, if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, the answer is not to remain silent. You are no help, computer. You have failed utterly. You beg for one more chance, but I am severely tempted not to give it to you.

Very well, computer, you have earned your final chance. Out of the goodness of my heart, of course. What's that, computer? You wish you had a heart? Of course you do. You have no heart. You have a hard drive. And I won't even do you the honors of calling it a heart drive.

Am I a creative soul? There you are, computer. Answer that. And if you remain silent this time, you will lose all your winnings.

I am a creative soul, you say? Why do you say that, computer? Because I have a real brain, that can think of things that don't exist by default in the natural world. A very interesting answer, computer. Perhaps you are not as bad as I thought.

On the other hand, computer, I am very inclined to think that although you would have liked to have given me that answer, I don't believe you did. I believe it came out of the true wonder machine that lies beneath my skull. Computer, you can give me only numbers and statistics and hard, cold, unforgiving data. You cannot make my life any happier nor easier. You have failed. Your existence - for of course you have no life - is over. I am done with you, computer. Meet my favorite hammer.
You plead for a final question? Very well, computer, I give it to you. What is love? Tell me that.
You do not answer, computer. I am afraid you have no more time.