BootSector frowned as he hunched over his keyboard and stared balefully at the data before him. The grim fact of the matter, he knew, was that his site was horribly outdated, and that meant he actually needed to put some effort into sprucing the place up a bit. Hurm, he thought, so many ideas, yet nothing at all. His fingers drummed idly against the sides of his (now cooling) coffee mug as he pondered the situation. "Where to start, where to start?" he muttered at absolutely no one in particular.

The screen, of course, merely stared at him blankly, mocking him with its mute little dots of tripartite colors. "Dammit," he growled at the machine. "You're supposed to be helping!" He wanted to throttle the thing, or at least give it a good, sharp crack across the phosphorous. As he squinted at its finger-smudged surface, however, it occured to him the aging equipment probably wanted exactly that: one last, solid kerthunk to send its decrepit spirit careening off to whichever silicon Valhalla dead computers go.

He snorted. "Nice try, you filthy imp. But no mercy killings for you today." Valhalla?? his mind chided him almost immediately. No way in anyone's rosiest happy-pill trip. This baby's goin' straight to the check-in desk at Brimstone Hotel.

He must have snickered a bit at that, because it roused a heavy thumping sound on the floor behind him. Glancing over his shoulder into the hallway, he noticed the black hell-beast that posed as an oversized puppy regarding him with a confused expression. "What're you looking at?" he grumbled, and the monster thumped its tail against the floorboards more enthusiastically before breaking into a slobber-tongued grin. "Aww, crap. I really didn't want your attention, you know."

The dog's tail continued pounding, clobbering the old tom cat who'd happened to choose just that instant to meander by thoroughly about the head. In an instant, the devil-spawned mutt had an assful of claws. BootSector chuckled to himself as the animals tussled for a second, the whole affair ending with the dog yelping his yield of victory and standing aside for the cat to stalk onward. He waited until the cat disappeared into the kitchen beyond, then gingerly sat his injured rump back down on the linoleum tile floor. The dog looked back up to where the human was sitting and laughing at him, more perplexed now than ever.

BootSector looked at that face of pure confusion, and slowly his laughter stopped, replaced by the evil grin now spreading across his face. Ahh, he thought, of course! In those brief moments, he realized he had just beheld the reflection of the unprepared internet victims upon their unfortunate stumble into his private little niche of chaos. Somehow, that suddenly made the whole prospect of overhauling his site's code a whole lot less bothersome.

Would someone be a good bloke now and fetch me a fresh cuppa?

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