How he killed it with a Turkey, a bizarre tale that ends with the death of my best friend, other than Abrah of course

You died.  I came in from work and there you were.  Panting.  Glitching.  Dying of heat stroke.  It took me half an hour to notice something was wrong.  It was like a light had slowly faded out.

I tried to wake you up.  “Wake up, please.”  I begged.  I tried everything I knew how to do.  I used emergency procedures.    I even used a Qtip dipped in rubbing alcohol to make sure you could breathe.

And still no sign of life.

I put a fan on you and let you sleep it off.  But sometimes heat stroke goes too far and there aren’t enough brain cells to ever really function again.

Brain dead.

I left you lying in the kitchen overnight in case a good night’s sleep was all you needed.

Nothing.  Not a wink.  Not a nice humming noise.  Just like a blank screen.  Dead.

So much for leaving you in a room with a baking turkey in the oven.  He said it was 85 in the house.  When I found you, you were almost too hot to touch.

So I decided it was over and tonight you’re spending the night at the repair shop.  I’m alone for the first time since you came into my life 5 years ago.

What will I ever do without you?  Use this noisy cheap older model I guess.  It takes more effort and everyone knows what I’m doing cause it’s so LOUD.  And in the basement. 

I remember the first day I got you and how I ran my hand along your front and said “it’s so pretty” and now you’re gone.

RIP  Laptop.

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