It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man, when given the opportunity to showcase his wit, will almost certainly regret it. The truth was reinforced one evening as my wife and I embarked on the simple yet perilous task of creating a password for our household computer.
As a man of modest intelligence and endless mischief, I aimed to bring some lightness to the proceedings. With a flourish of fingers that would make Mozart weep, I typed, “My penis.”
The response was instantaneous and seismic.
My wife, ordinarily possessed of grace and decorum, collapsed onto the floor in a fit of laughter so violent I feared for her respiration. She waved one trembling hand toward the screen, wordlessly imploring me to witness what had felled her.
Turning my gaze back to the screen, where the computer, in its cold and unfeeling wisdom, had delivered its judgment: “Not long enough.”
Ladies and gentlemen, I have been humbled by many things–time, gravity, and my mother-in-law chief among them—but never before had I been so succinctly eviscerated by a machine.
If this is progress, I want no part of it.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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