That isn't playful exaggeration; the Blue Screen of Death was an everyday occurrence. Famously, one showed up when Bill Gates was actually giving a demonstration of Windows 98. You know. To sell it.

"Ha ha ha," the world laughed. "Windows sure is terrible. Let's use nothing but it."

Why It's So Frustrating:

The most frustrating thing about the Blue Screen of Death is how little it tells you, giving you no real indication why your computer crashed or how to fix it. Fatal Exception 0E? What the hell does that even mean? Has my computer been drinking again?

Obviously, this complaint can apply to lots of error messages, with their cryptic hashcodes and core dumps and other gibberish. All information is basically useless to anyone who'd actually see the error message. A regular computer user doesn't know what it means. A regular computer user's cousin Kenny (who's pretty good with computers) doesn't know what it means. Tech Support doesn't know what it means. It sort of could be the kind of information that a Microsoft programmer could use, but they sure didn't want to fucking read it.

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"What's that you say? A bug in Windows 98? Fuck you. We tried."

These kinds of error messages do serve a purpose, but only when the software is still being developed, when programmers are actively trying to fix these bugs. But once they've given up and shipped it, these messages are close to useless. Having the screen go black while playing a long farting sound that changes pitch twice would serve the same purpose.

Why It's So Frustrating:

I'm going to give you a little quiz. What do the letters "PC" usually mean? "Politically Correct," yes, of course, thank you Ms. Smart Ass. But in the context of computers and offices, "PC" always means "Personal Computer." It's shorthand we use to mean computer, right?

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Wrong, asshole. OK, then. Let's back up. This is a printer problem. What printer things could "PC" mean? "Printer Cartridge"?

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Stop embarrassing yourself, moron. Do you give up? Or at least want me to stop calling you childish names? OK then, I'll tell you.

"PC," in this case, stands for "Paper Cassette," which every human being on the planet (and quite possibly the HP manual) calls the "Paper Tray." This is what this error message is telling you to load letter size (8.5" x 11") paper into.

"Bucholz," I hear you saying. "You colossal dickfarm. That's not that hard to decipher. I mean, if something isn't printing, and it's asking for letter size paper--shit. Why not check the paper tray?" And that's pretty reasonable, except what if you happen to work in a country that doesn't use letter size paper? Other than North America, most countries in the world use paper sizes like A4. For a few reasons, people in other countries still would commonly see this error message and wonder why the heck the printer was so interested in their correspondence.

To their credit, Microsoft did end up expanding its warranty program to address the issue and try to do right by their customers. Though, as they also built and sold a video game console that was made entirely out of hot turds, we probably shouldn't let them completely off the hook.

Why It's So Frustrating:

Most computer errors aren't that hard to fix. Whether it's rebooting it or taking a half-hour to read some forums and download a free tool, we can do most of this ourselves, using nothing more than a bit of knowledge or time. But if you saw a Red Ring of Death, there was no way you could fix it; no amount of blowing on it would make this thing work again. Your $250 toy was toast, and you'd have to send it back to Microsoft for a new one.

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Which was, more often than not, a used one, because this is still Microsoft we're talking about. It's a small miracle they didn't send back a blender and a Windows ME CD.

Hardware problems are always more frustrating than software problems, because there's nothing to be done but return it, and that's probably going to involve getting out of your chair. Days or weeks of downtime are the norm, and because video game players aren't known for their ability to delay gratification, the Red Ring of Death became one of the most hated error messages of all time.

But, if you don't want your car to soon sound like someone feeding an aluminum ladder into a lawnmower, the Check Engine Light is an excellent clue that you should probably check your engine.

If only it were so easy.

Why It's So Frustrating:

The Check Engine Light might as well be a little glowing dollar sign, because cars are not known for being cheap to fix. First, there's no online forum that tells you what your Check Engine Light (illuminated, kind of yellowish) means. If you have a code scanner, you could connect it to your car and find the problem, but that's already costing you money. And that's just to find the problem, not fix it. Because there sure as fuck isn't a free program you can download that will replace your head gasket for you.

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"I would pay up to $2.99 for an app that would buy and replace an O2 sensor for a '98 Jetta. Your move, free market."

The Check Engine Light is essentially the herald of big, cash money hardware problems. And because it doesn't say much, it gets really unsettling staring at it as the miles tick by. Will it only be a couple hundred bucks to fix? Or 50 hundred bucks? Can you make it to work? Can you make it home after? That's what the Check Engine Light signifies. A world of unknown financial hurt and the possibility of getting stranded miles from your loved ones. Nothing's more worrying and frustrating than that.

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Unless you have a really unhappy home life, in which case maybe it's welcome news.

DOS was also notable for having an error message that it would barf up essentially every time something happened, good or bad. "Abort, Retry, Fail?" was its name, and if you used DOS for more than about five minutes you were guaranteed to see it.

It'd most commonly show up if your computer was missing a disk, had too many disks, or had exactly the right number of disks.

Why It's So Frustrating:

The most sinister thing about Abort, Retry, Fail? was that it gave you options. Not just an error message, but a command prompt. The situation was still under your control! Sure, two of the options seemed to be identical -- is "abort" different from "fail"? How? Also, all of the options did the exact same thing, which was this:

"Wait. Let's try "abort" again. I ... oh damnit."

There were supposedly ways around it, but not even experienced computer nerds could remember what they were. So every appearance of Abort Retry, Fail? became a new, unsolvable mystery.

Wait. A puzzle that defeated the greatest minds of an age? That sounds familiar. Abort Retry, Fail? was the Gordian Knot of computer errors.

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And putting a sword through your computer was far from the least popular way to handle it.

Chris Bucholz is a Cracked columnist and your best friend. Join him on Facebook or Twitter and make him reconsider that.