Fictionlet
“You rotten bastard!” Greg said, tossing his mouse across the room. Or at least, attempting to toss it across the room — in fact, it quickly reached the end of its cord, snapped back, and landed right back where it had started with a loud clatter.
“What was that?” called Brigid from the other room.
“This bloody Mah-Jongg game!” Greg said, waving his hand at the monitor. “I’ve been playing it for weeks and I finally got to the point where I could win once or twice in a row, and it jacked up the difficulty level. Now every tile that would match, is under the exact same tile, so I can’t get to it!”
“The fiends!”
“Exactly so. They just hold out hope as a tantalizing dream, then snatch it away and laugh at my suffering!”
“I don’t suppose,” she hazarded, “that it could just be random generation?”
“Never!” Greg snapped back. “This game is malicious, and has it out for me. I can tell. But I’ll show them! I’m going to play Freecell instead!”
“Somewhere inside your computer, a person wearing an orange neon suit is now saying, ‘Curses, foiled again!'”
“Damn straight,” Greg said, turning his mouse back upright and closing the program with a smug air of victory.
-The Gneech
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