Encontró una tablet que no solo almacenaba memoria, sino que también la creaba. ¿Hasta dónde estarías dispuesto a llegar por un recuerdo perfecto? El Oráculo de los 24 Atardeceres El paquete llegó sin remitente, solo una etiqueta con su nombre: “ Dr. Alvaro Rojas , para sus atardeceres” . Adentro, envuelta en un silicio suave como terciopelo negro, estaba la Tablet Android 15 de 10.1 pulgadas . No parecía salida de una fábrica, sino cultivada . Su pantalla HD de 2560x1440 píxeles era un estanque de obsidiana líquida, profundo y listo para reflejar mundos. Alvaro, neurólogo retirado y viudo, la encendió. El Octa Core no roncó; susurró al ser activado. Pero el verdadero gancho no fue su velocidad, sino la primera notificación: *“ Memoria principal: 24GB . Memoria expandible detectada: +8GB . Espacio emocional disponible : Ilimitado. ¿Importar recuerdo clave?”*. Con un pulso tembloroso, Alvaro seleccionó el video más preciado de su archivo: ...
If there’s one thing I never thought I’d witness, it’s my dog, Mr. Fluffy, pulling off an Oscar-worthy performance. But, thanks to a recent dog food recall, my fluffy companion has gone full-on *diva*—and I think he might be plotting revenge.
It all started with a headline
“Dog Food Recall Due to Contamination,” it read. Panic hit me instantly. Mr. Fluffy had been happily munching away on that exact brand. I had only switched him to it last month because it was organic, grain-free, gluten-free, and who-knows-what-else-free. All the things you can’t even pronounce, but hey, only the best for my little prince, right?
Cue the drama
I rushed to the pantry, grabbed the bag, and tossed it in the trash like a hero in a low-budget action movie. But when Mr. Fluffy saw his beloved kibble fly into the bin, he stared at me like I had betrayed him on a deeply personal level. His eyes said it all: “You’ve chosen violence.”
Then the hunger strike began
You’d think I had swapped his gourmet meals for sawdust. I offered him new food—premium stuff that costs more than my groceries—but no. He sniffed it, looked at me, and walked away, sighing dramatically as if to say, “How could you?” My dog had officially gone on strike.
The plot thickens
Day two of the hunger strike: Mr. Fluffy takes things to the next level. He flops on the floor, paws over his face, and lets out exaggerated sighs that rival any teenage drama. I swear, I half-expected him to throw himself onto a fainting couch like an overworked Victorian noblewoman.
By day three, I caved
I start cooking for him. That’s right—I’m sautéing chicken, sweet potatoes, and rice like some doggy Michelin chef. Meanwhile, Mr. Fluffy watches from the corner, clearly enjoying the show. He eats it, but not before making a spectacle of inspecting every bite.
But here’s the kicker
I later found out *his brand* wasn’t even part of the recall. Yep, Mr. Fluffy had me cooking gourmet meals for a week, all while he played the victim in his imaginary food crisis.
So, moral of the story? Beware of dog food recalls, folks. Not because of the contamination—but because your dog might just turn into the world’s tiniest diva.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a dog to feed—and an agent to call. Mr. Fluffy’s Hollywood debut is only a matter of time.
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