Dear Laptop (specifically the keyboard),
I never liked you to begin with. I find you to be to be riddled with flaws only a person of my impeccable status can detect. I can live with the fact that you’re not comfortable to work with, but the least you can do is be responsive. After all, that was the deal. I bring you the words and you place them down in a neat and orderly fashion. Sure, we can go with the excuse that my constant typing wore you down, but you’re a bloody keyboard for Christ sake. It's your job. That's like a pornstar complaining about anal. When I type a word, I expect all the letters to appear, but you’ve been making me look like a buffoon for the last two weeks. I think it’s funny that you’re not messing up as I type this. All of a sudden you work correctly? Did my plan actually work? Having a heart-to-heart with an inanimate object to make it run smoothly... I must be crazy or a pure genius because it worked. Diplomacy works with machines, after all.
Sincerely,
Kenny