Michael's Texas Embrace

So I got my Moog back. It got new IC chips put in it for the attack. Yay! only 150 bucks!

IT IS STILL BROKEN IN EXACTLY THE SAME WAY AS BEFORE I'M GOING TO KILL IT AND EAT IT AND PASS IT IN PIECES IN THE WOODS FOR THE ANIMALS TO EAT!!!

Oh Moog, I should have known you were cursed when it took almost six weeks for the girl I bought it from to ship, out of sheer laziness, it seemed. "Oh, I forgot, I'll get it in the mail this week for sure..." And then you were out of tune, and then you worked pretty good for about five days and then you stopped working right. I should have just cut my losses and sold you right then, maybe got a nice casio keyboard and a ring modulator or something. I could've been making spacey sounds and still had piano and organ sounds. But I trusted you, moog prodigy, I took you to get fixed. And you betrayed me. You sat there in the shop for almost a month, whispering, "all I need are two fifty-cent chips and I will sing like a square wave dream." And then...and then...you were still broken. Why should I be upset at you, you ask? I mean, I only saved up all my tips for two and a half months to get you. That's a lot of bitchy latte drinkers, my little keyboard. And the cost of your repair was my birthday present. So, little Moog, it's sort of like I slaved away over a hot espresso machine to buy an over-priced booping machine, and then didn't get anything for my birthday. Damn you to hell.