[quote name='SlammedNiss'][/INDENT] Up, then down, then up, then down again, then up again, then down once again. Seriously, what is the deal with this particular keyboard.[/QUOTE]
Word has it that this keyboard was originally purchased from a flea market on the edge of a small town in Nebraska. They say the man's table was like a museum of the arcane and mystical. However, hidden within these scattered objects of dubious origins was a keyboard and mouse combo, a "Wireless Optical Desktop 3000".
The buyer's keyboard and mouse had failed simultaneously the same day, so the purchase was a logical one. Maybe it was a coincidence. Perhaps fate had sabotaged him.
When the item was taken home, his life took a turn for the worse. He and his wife began fighting, and she left within a week. His goldfish floated to the top of the bowl, his pickup truck broke down. It was as if a country song began to happen to him.
When he was alone in his house, the real terror began to take shape. Lying in his bed, he would hear typing sounds coming from his office. When he would get up to check, of course, there was no one there. Then began the clicking sounds.
Incessant clicking and occasional typing. All alone in the house. Enough to drive a person mad.
One night, the clicking became so loud and angry that it woke him from his sleep. In addition, things like "I slit the tires on your house, bitch!", "Your mom!" and "Tea bag! Tea bag!" issued forth. Enough was enough. He stormed into his office and disconnected the keyboard and mouse combo, tossing both into the garbage can outside.
The following day, he saw that the keyboard and mouse had returned. He questioned whether he had actually thrown them away... it was, after all, the middle of the night and he may have simply dreamed it. He repeated the process and threw them away.
That night, more of the same. He was again awakened by the terrifying sound of "I will skull
you, bitch!" Upon entering the office, he discovered that the keyboard and mouse were back once again.
"No!" he cried out. "I threw you away! Garbage collection was last night! You can't be here!"
The keyboard and mouse said nothing, simply stared blankly at him with their green and red glow.
"Fine then," he said. "Kill it with fire."
He took the keyboard and mouse to his backyard, where he covered both in kerosene. He struck a match and reveled in watching them melt into an unrecognizable mass of plastic.
"It's over," he said aloud. "You can't hurt me anymore."
He returned to bed, satisfied.
Nearly an hour had passed. He found himself unable to sleep, haunted by visions of headshots and teabaggers.
From the backyard came a terrifying sound.
Click click.
"No," he said. "Impossible."
Click click. Click click.
"This can't be real!" he yelled. "You're not real!"
Louder now. Click click. Click click. Tap tap tap.
He sat up in bed.
It was coming from the hallway now. Click click. Click click.
He backed up against the wall.
Click click. Click click.
The door began to open.
Click click. Click click.
He realized, far too late, that
he would be the one teabagged tonight.
YMMV, though.