Have you ever noticed that (most) people, when assembling some piece of technology, and confronted with a piece that stubbornly refuses to allow itself to be inserted, or that doesn’t work quite the way it should . . .

That be they man or woman, they automatically enter “Alpha Male Bear-Wrasslin’ Mode,” and that suddenly, even though we might be the most erudite of ladies or gentlemen otherwise, every other word out of our mouths from that point on, as we work on the project, becomes some variation on “cocksucker!”, “son of a bitch!” “piece of shit!”, “goddamn it, go in there!,” "or “you little bastard!”, and the ever popular “motherfucker, I’ll show you who’s boss!”

And then when the piece of technology finally relents in the struggle, and does what it’s supposed to do (after about nine million attempts, during which the person assembling the machine has come close to three aneurisms, two heart attacks, and has probably cut their hand open on something), they just have to — loudly — proclaim their victory (“Yeah! Whose house is this! Whose house, you little bitch-ass!”) and showboat around a bit (i.e., dance around in their underwear, maybe) to celebrate their “win” over “that son of a bitching thing!”

It’s not just me who notices this (or, okay, I admit it — actually does this). I’ve seen both women and men reduced to stark raving lunatics during the “assembly” phase of putting together a new custom computer rig from nothing but parts. The more expensive and complex the rig, the more cussing and threats on the machine’s life you’re bound to hear if you’re close by one of us as we work.. Trust me.

If you’ve never done it — putting together a computer out of nothing but parts purchased from Amazon is far, far more frustrating, messy, and bad for your mental health than even that goddamn office furniture they sell at Walmart and Office Depot, and that we, in our arrogance (and perhaps wanting to save a hundred bucks or so) think we don’t need professionally assembled. “Heh, naw, I can do it,” we say to the clerk, who then proceeds to inwardly laugh his ass off at the ordeal he knows we’re going to put ourselves through.

I thought I knew a lot about doing this. Hell, back in “the day,” I assembled systems left and right. I built 3 of the 5 PC computers that I owned before my I got my first Mac, and helped several friends on their builds; I got my A+ and Net+ Computer Repair Certifications way back in 2003, I used to sell computers and upgrades — and perform them — at CompUSA, Radio Shack, Walmart, and at H.H. Gregg. And at NTR.NET, I was the man to call if you needed some custom Dynamic HTML and JavaScript written. I’ve got about 24 credit hours at Indiana University in the Computer Science department; not the “Information Systems” department . . . The actual goddamn Computer Sciences department — in other words, Im trained in the really hard, conceptual and theoretical shit that you need Calculus to chew through. I’ve had 25 years experience working with everything from 8086 processors and MS-DOS 4.0, to Windows 10 (this year’s update) and macOS 10.15.2, Cataliana. I’ve taken apart and fused back together and cannibalized and hacked together systems since I was a tween.

But THIS SYSTEM. Jesus H. Christ driving a shit-truck, this thing is a MAJOR pain in the ass!

First thing, fresh outta the gate, the initial motherboard was no good, so we had to send it back for a refund. Then while the new one is on its way, I discover that the RAM I ordered, despite the Amazon description saying otherwise, isn’t the right spec to run on the replacement motherboard. Fuck! So we sent that back and ordered new RAM for a pretty penny more. Got the new motherboard. Then got the case. Discovered the case is too small to support all my equipment. So, sigh, we ordered. a new case. New case gets here and it looks big enough. Notice I said looks. It’s got a locking glass door that’s locked. And the fuckers — the FUCKERS — forgot to give us the keys that open it. It turns out this was a manufacturing and shipping snafu. Finally pried the case open by gently picking (and kinda ruining, but oh well) the locking mechanism. Then began to build. Annnnnnd it’s too small. Too shit-fuck, goddamn, motherfucking, cocksucking small. Not enough room for the radiators. I’m at my wits end. So we order a THIRD case. But while it’s on its way, I have an epiphany: Use the back of the motherboard’s backplane to mount the 3.5” hard-drives; that’s what it’s there for, you moron! So I tried that. Went to mount everything and . . . . .

Bent pins on one of the main motherboard interface headers. Well, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck-fuck. So, hello, Amazon? Yeah its your favorite idiot. I need a new motherboard. No this one isn’t defective; the guy assembling it is certainly defective as fuck, but other than having bent the pins—and even broken one off while trying to straighten it; oops!—the motherboard was good to go. Until Captain Dumbass (that’d be me) fucked it all up. So. New motherboard arrives tomorrow, maybe; or Saturday. Who the fuck knows. I obviously do not know dick anymore about properly assembling computers or planning a build. If I did, none of these snafus would have happened.

But, anyway. We’ll see what happens when the new motherboard gets here, and the new case. I might turn out to like it more than the current one, and just chuck the current one into the supply-parts closet. Who knows. I kinda feel like Dr. Frankenstein with this thing. Not Victor Frankenstein. Either — Fredrick Frankenstein . . . And it’s pronounced “Frahnk-en-STEEN.”, thank you very much. (But I do not say “Eye-gore” or “Froe-drick.”)

Dammit, I am determined now. I WILL make this thing LIVE. I WILL bring it to life, despite being cold-cocked a few times in the first few rounds of this titanic struggle between me and the gods of fate and luck. I say to those gods now what I said to the USB 3.0 motherboard cable last night: “Motherfucker, I’ll fix your ass!”