I know why it tried to kill me. I neglected the console for a while. In fact, it was so neglected that it choked on house dust.
The console was also jealous about how I spent more time with its competitors. Several times it caught me on the couch with an Xbox or with the PC in my bedroom. The console didn’t like that I grinned from ear to ear when I was in the bedroom. I’m sure this neglected console’s power-on button was green with envy.
The console became distant and cold after these events. Then I stared at a blank screen alone in dark. For a change, I tried to become re-acquainted with my Xbox or PC, but they mysteriously disappeared. I only had this dusty, neglected console.
The console got worse. I learned about its pyromania problems. One day, it became so hot that it almost burned a wooden shelf I had placed it on. Good thing I caught that before bedtime. After that incident, I kept a fire extinguisher nearby—just in case.
The last straw occurred when the console developed homicidal hatred. I awoke one morning to find a picture of my girlfriend, normally on the end table by my bed, missing. I shrugged it off and stumbled into the bathroom. I reached for a knob in the tub when I noticed a long, plugged-in extension cord and something else. There was a toaster in the bathtub!
I guess I should have seen this homicidal behaviour coming. After all, advertisements touted it as the killer console of the century. Those advertisements were true to their word, a rare occurrence indeed.
I decided to put an end to this awful relationship. I threw the console in the dump; it wouldn’t turn on anyway. Let’s hope some poor soul doesn’t chance upon it.
As for me, I walked out of the dump with my held high, staring at the blue sky. The future looked bright and there was a new generation on the horizon.