Oh so carefully I peeled away the layers of bubble wrap that bound the computer. The large iMac had traveled from College Station to Guam in a suitcase of venerable strength and hardness of equal proportion. Would it emerge from its protective cocoon more spectacular than before? No! Fate would not have it. And as the last of the wrapping came undone, Yan Ming let out a bone chilling cry so cold it sounded as if it were notes played on the keys of a piano made of frozen windex. The machine had been swaddled more carefully than baby Moses being sent down the Nile, but lo! the iMac held a large crack running down its glass screen.
But wait! Could the computer still work?! With great haste we plugged the power cable into the machine. The world held its breath. Yes!! All was not lost! The iMac did indeed turn on. Unbent, unbowed, unbroken, the computer's screen shined bright with the burning passion of a thousand suns! The iMac cried out - 'I am a beautiful animal! I am a destroyer of worlds!' - and at last, the world was quiet.
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