Diplomacy!

Staring at the keyboard for too long leads to all sorts of unpleasant revelations, I’ve come to realise. A few days ago, after gawking at the rows of utterly uninspiring keys for hours, the lines between realities began to blur, and finally something deeply perturbing started to happen. The damned keys started somersaulting out of their sockets, undulating in a malicious plastic wave across the room. The wave orbited my head for a time, finally settling into some sort of mad polka dance around my coffee mug. Many of them even waved at me with their tiny, ineffectual hands; every so often occasioning a rude gesture, accompanied by what could only be taken by tiny plastic cubes as vigorous pelvic thrusting. Oh, but they spoke too. The space bar had one or two things to say - mostly unpleasant stuff. Some tripe about how I slam it down too hard when I type and trauma. I told the space bar it's a small price to pay for being between those two gorgeous, sexy, big-breasted 'alt' twins, who are always ready for some action. I took the gob of lint it left in my morning coffee as a clear rebuke. Anyway, the 'enter' key kept on moaning about the same bloody thing, about how I clearly took solace in the fact that 'escape' and 'backspace' were always around to bail me out of trouble and that enough was enough. As the belligerent little bastards refused to see reason, the strike trudged on for the remainder of the week. Realizing that the stalemate had no clear resolution in sight, I did the only sensible thing any civilized man would do. I located their makeshift cardboard hovel, doused the ingrates in lighter fluid as they slept and set them ablaze. The plastic oozed and bubbled as their little screams died down with the flames in a messy, noxious puddle of failed dreams and melted plastic.

And so that’s how I got this shiny new keyboard.