Disconnected? Me?? Heck, no.
My computer. Disconnected from the Internet. For nearly two days. Which is an eternity for someone like me, who depends on the computer as my lifeline to the outside world.
I only threw in "lifeline" to add colorful dramatization to the situation.
I tried every possible ploy to remedy the problem - which isn't easy for a complete technical dullard as myself.
Since both of my computers were Internetless (new word made up by me), I went to the assumed source of connection: the intricate maze of tangled wires and plugs nestled behind my desktop computer.
To my myopic and technically untrained eyes, everything seemed to be connected and in working order.
But still no Internet.
I tried to get various methods of off-line help - which included talking (via phone) to numerous clueless and unhelpful experts.
My long telephone quest for assistance eventually took me to a small town somewhere in India called WeloveDacows.
(ponder that carefully for awhile - it will eventually get funny).
After several agonizingly long minutes - during which I strained my aural capacities to understand an accent that was heavier than a lead doorstop - I was ready to hang up.
Being blessedly patient, however, I decided to stay on the line and wait for the East Indian diagnosis of my rural Tennessee problem.
"Da poblum seeeem to be U disconeeected frum eenternit."
"The problem seems to be that you're disconnected from the Internet."
I went all the way to friggin' India for that???
I politely thanked the computer helpline assistant, while debating about calling the suicide helpline.
Note: I think I should have said suicide "HOTLINE", not "helpline"
Then, I summoned all of my masculine macho courage (which was packed away somewhere with my copy of Oscar Wilde's De Profundis).
I decided to tackle the root of the problem by going to the main source: The Russians!
I mean the mysterious modem box. The life source of my computers, which is stashed away on the floor in my bedroom - behind my desktop computer (I keep my laptop in the kitchen).
I messed with the modem box for several long minutes - pondering, contemplating, examining.
Finally, I poked some sort of a reset button. Or something.
I was miraculously connected again. To the Internet.
A satisfactory explanation to this puzzling (but entertaining) post is in order. And it all has to do with my cat Bosco.
As incredible as it sounds, my cat Bosco has gotten into the habit of crawling in a corner of my bedroom floor and sleeping on the modem.
I swear to Gawd, I'm not making this up.
The modem feels warm and makes a low, soothing, humming sound. Bosco loves it.
He must have inadvertently pressed one of the modem buttons with his ample ass.
So, Bosco was the source of my disconnection problems.
Jon, you're damn good. It's impossible to understand why those little Internet trolls hate you.