Messing with an iPad Mini POS

The dumbass techno gift that keeps giving: pain and frustration.  Something in the iPad OS puked digits, and now *swish* claims it needs a passcode to *asswipe* get “in.”  There is no passcode and the re-set function seems inoperable either.  Dance the monkey dance Mr. Buttonpusher cubicleturd.  Plus it was never “synced” with anything and the computer doesn’t recognize it when it’s plugged in.  Apple?  F*ckng POS.

Update: Meanwhile in MORE IMPORTANT NEWS-news, the Little Green Deathcart was out of wheel-gas and when I checked the atmospheres they were at neutral, so between Joe Blow and your friend the Arm-Hand Guy we provided some needed pump-up.  Actual indications went up to 30psi. as recommended.
Little Green Deathcart
Actual results went to 30psi.

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About NotClauswitz

The semi-sprawling adventures of a culturally hegemonic former flat-lander and anti-idiotarian individualist, fleeing the toxic cultural smug emitted by self-satisfied lotus-eating low-land Tesla-driving floppy-hat wearing lizadroid-Leftbat Califorganic eco-tofuistas ~

3 thoughts on “Messing with an iPad Mini POS

  1. I feel your pain.
    At work (dealing as I do with big, noisy machinery), the only purpose for the computer in the Engineers’ office is to receive work orders. Yet somehow, at least twice a month, we seem to have technical problems that require me to change my passwords, get in touch with I.T., or otherwise babysit the stupid POS.
    As a culture, all but the youngest of us now resemble flabby middle-agers in ill-fitting Lycra, trying to keep up with the mad gyrations of a 1% body fat instructor, yelling “C,mon now! Keep it up, now!”

    • And even many of the kids are flabby – but trying to realize Barbie or Ken-like bodies is an unrealistic goal, since they are imaginary and not real. The Holluywood body is a fake, starved and inflated, even among men.

    • Ah yes, the fake “Hollywood body” (true for the whole entertainment industry, actually, including the runways and the ad-books called magazines). Starved here and inflated there, and still Photoshopped as necessary.

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