My very heart is darkened with the monstrously aggravating Yahoo e-mail, what with the not working and the "can't connecting" and the blank staring and the rotating wheel of impotence.
Grrr, Yahoo, I seethe at thee through the clenched jaws of frustration and anger. Thou arte vile, mocking me in my hour of need, tanatalizing me with the four e-mails of un-read-id-ness and the subsequent gray screen of unachievability.
I froth at the mouth, yet you do not respond. I bait you with curses, and you ignore my taunts. I pound my fists on the table before me, yet you do not bend to my entreaties, you frigid bulk of communication hoggery.
Four messages. Not readable. My witty slash thoughtful slash heartfelt slash snarktastic responses to the missives launched in my general direction, stopped by you before they could be birthed from my willing brain onto ether. My disappointment knows no boundary at this turn of unfortunate events.
Contact lists, not searchable. My mater, therefore, uncallable in her Florida condo by the sea. Poor, poor, mother, seeking the voice of her only daughter, only to be thwarted at a late hour by the vagaries of the electronic media on which we've come to rely with such gravity and depth. My mother's disappointment is palpable, even here, some thousand miles removed from her gentle curious soul.
Ah Yahoo, if your intent was to teach me patience, to instruct me in forebearance, then I must inform you that you have failed. For, if you do not know, there are others out there who would provide me the same service as you have, and who are both sexily named (hi-ho Hotmail) and ready to receive the output of my active typing fingers and beseeching mind. Oh yes, yes they are.
So, be watchful, dear Yahoo - for though you are mirthfully named and prettily dressed, you are not the only provider of your services in the town of Internets.
You must needs, therefore, consider yourself warned fairly and in good time. Much more of this obtrusive behavior and I will go elsewhere to satisfy my needs.