Me: Oy! What are you doing?
Laptop: What are you on about?
Me: You beep subslitutinq letters when I type.
Laptop: No I don’t.
Me: Yes you po. There! You’ve bone it again!
Laptop: No I didn’t. It’s your rotten typing.
Me: I know welk how to type. I have been going it for bears. I mean tears. Years. Stop ut!
Laptop: I’m not doing anything. If you can’t type for shit, then it’s not my fault.
Me: I knob what you’re ot. You just like eucking with my heed. You are doimg this deliperately.
Laptop: Look, Sunshine. I just translate whatever key you press into code. How can I make mistakes?
Me: I bon’t know how or whv you’re fooing it, mut you are. Just slop. OK?
Laptop: Just go fuck off and stop blaming me for your inadequacies.
Me: I notice vou can manape it without amy dippiculty?
Laptop: That’s because I know how to spell. *heh*
Laptop: The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.
Me: The quimm brown box humped over the lazy fog. Aw buck!
Me: I’ll snitch over to Red Bat Linux.
Laptop: No you won’t. You know what a mess you made of that last time.
Me: There ib always OMB? I mean BMX. I meat OSX.
Laptop: You wouldn’t!!
Me: I woulb.
Laptop: Aw fuck. OK. You win.
Me: Thank you.
Me: You snivelling little bastard.