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I cannot stand modern technology and prefer to work on my trusty 1957 Quiet-Typer. Unfortunately, my editor is insisting that i transfer the latest draft of my current novel - the next great novel of this century - into a digital copy for his convenience.
Convenience...How I detest that word. Is there anything more sickening that taking the raw, hard-won, outpourings of a writer - his very heart and soul rendered in ink upon a page - and converting it into a digital document? Reducing it to nothing more than bits and byttes to be shuffled between computers like so many spreadsheets?
Anyways, my current computer is an outdated hulk I purchased several years ago, and it seems it's not able to run the latest professional writing software ('Word') with quite enough vim. Kindly upgrade the machine so that I can continue my useless work. The future of my wallet depends on it.