BOOM-boom BOOM-boom BOOM-boom… The primal tattoo of the drums resonated through the jungle. “Mr. Chipset, I think we should go no further, I think,” whispered a chubby, swarthy man. The short brim of his fishing hat quivered along with his jowls. “Very bad things happen here. Very bad.”

Solomon Chipset, intrepid computer archaeologist, just smiled and whispered back. “Not a chance, Three-Teeth. I didn’t come all this way just to go home with a few mosquito bites. No Westerner in living memory has ever even seen an ancient eMachines W3611, much less brought back a specimen.”

“Nobody who lived,” Three-Teeth sighed mournfully.

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?,” Chipset asked. “It’s just a little local color. You don’t really believe that mumbo-jumbo about – wait a minute. The drums. They’ve stopped.”

Three-Teeth froze in horror. “That means – that means – they think they’ve found – an intruder.”

“Well, I think our course of action is clear,” whispered Chipset. “Run like hell!”

The pair turned away from the clearing and bolted through the forest. Spears whizzed past, thrown by unseen hands. They slipped and bumped through the dense tropical foliage, ending abruptly at…the very clearing where the legendary W3611 ceremony was taking place. Scowling, paint-faced warriors, crazed by religious rapture, pounced on them and dragged them to the ground. Chipset got just a glimpse of a tall, black-and-silver edifice in the center of the clearing before he lost consciousness.

He awoke to the sound of chanting and the ever-present drums. “Pentium 4! Pentium 4!” thousands of zealots shouted in unison. “512MB DDR2! 512MB DDR2!” Chipset soon realized his predicament: he was bound to a stake in front of a massive monitor (sold separately), in the process of booting up. I hope Three-Teeth got away, he thought desperately. I’d hate to die with that on my conscience. Some sort of native high priest stood before him, helpfully intoning his pagan rites in English.

“When the computer boots up, the infidel dies!” he bellowed, and the crowd roared. Chipset was chilled to his very core…but then he noticed something about the start-up screens. Could it be? Were these heathens trying to run Vista on this ancient machine? There’s no way that would work! Chipset thought fast, then yelled back at the priest: “I am an emissary from the gods! You have displeased them! Your computer will never run well until you release me!” The throng of worshippers gasped. They stared as one at the giant monitor. And waited. And waited.

At last, the scowling priest raised an elaborately carved knife and sliced through the ropes holding Chipset hostage. The crowd dropped as one to their knees, bowing before this holy emissary. He walked through the silent mass of supplicants to freedom. The next morning, he and Three-Teeth had croissants in Marseilles.

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