TI-83

 

Originally posted on February 25, 2009.

Hi, it�s me, your calculator. Yes, I know it�s kind of weird for you to be busily working and then suddenly be interpersonally communicated to by an inanimate object, not to mention an engineer-type inanimate object. But let�s face it, we have to talk�you see, I don�t think I�m being treated fairly through this arrangement. Sure it has it perks, I get free rides in your backpack, I get to make you laugh when you make pictures using math symbols, and I have the pleasure of knowing that I am infinitely smarter than you as evident in practically all your math exams.

Even these fluffy benefits however, are considerably outweighed but the horrible treatment I must go through on a day to day basis. For one thing, the endless poking has to stop. It�s embarrassing when someone walks past and there I am being poked by that terrible index finger over and over as if I were a baby. Sometimes when you�re nervous you actually inflict pain on my rubberized function button. I fear that soon the labels on my buttons will rub off and I will become useless in the purpose for which I was created. Part of this problem could be fixed if you would just store your programs and formulas in my onboard memory instead of using up all that space with your silly text pictures�the long in the short of it is that they are killing me, slowly. Also, please keep in mind that it is not my fault when you can�t remember the Pythagorean Theorem and throwing me across the room and into the wall does not help the situation.

Another thing you need to know is that girls don�t think it�s funny when you tell them your calculator can give them a TAN, chop LOGs, and forgive SIN�you�re essentially stating that you have no idea what those functions do and are confirming that you are officially un-datable if not certifiably insane.

So please, do your poor calculator a favor and help me help you. Always remember: pi is not 3.14, nine is really just a confused six, and above all, never drink and derive.