He selected it.
Leo didn’t know why it made him so furious. The badger hadn’t done anything wrong. But every morning, as he fumbled for his password, that animal stared at him with what he could only describe as judgmental contempt. You’re late again, Leo. Your coffee is getting cold. Your life is a series of missed deadlines, the badger seemed to say.
The second result was a YouTube video titled “CHANGE LOCK SCREEN WINDOWS 11 (SUPER EASY 2024).” The host had the energy of a caffeinated squirrel. Leo watched at 2x speed.
The first result was a Microsoft help article. It was written, Leo suspected, by the badger itself. It used words like “personalization cascading menu” and “Windows Spotlight dependency.” He closed the tab in a rage.
A preview updated. The parking lot. The soda cup. The dumpster. Glorious, meaningless, soul-crushing ugliness.
Select “Picture” and click “Browse.” Leo’s heart hammered. He navigated to his “Saved Pictures” folder. He had one image in mind. It was a photo he’d taken last summer on a terrible vacation. A blurry, sun-bleached shot of a parking lot in Tulsa, Oklahoma. There was a discarded soda cup in the foreground. A dumpster in the back. It was, objectively, the ugliest photo ever taken.
Click on “Lock screen.” Yes. Yes. He was there. A menu opened. It showed three options: Windows Spotlight (the badger’s native habitat), Picture , and Slideshow .
How To Change Lock Screen Windows 11 Updated Link
He selected it.
Leo didn’t know why it made him so furious. The badger hadn’t done anything wrong. But every morning, as he fumbled for his password, that animal stared at him with what he could only describe as judgmental contempt. You’re late again, Leo. Your coffee is getting cold. Your life is a series of missed deadlines, the badger seemed to say.
The second result was a YouTube video titled “CHANGE LOCK SCREEN WINDOWS 11 (SUPER EASY 2024).” The host had the energy of a caffeinated squirrel. Leo watched at 2x speed.
The first result was a Microsoft help article. It was written, Leo suspected, by the badger itself. It used words like “personalization cascading menu” and “Windows Spotlight dependency.” He closed the tab in a rage.
A preview updated. The parking lot. The soda cup. The dumpster. Glorious, meaningless, soul-crushing ugliness.
Select “Picture” and click “Browse.” Leo’s heart hammered. He navigated to his “Saved Pictures” folder. He had one image in mind. It was a photo he’d taken last summer on a terrible vacation. A blurry, sun-bleached shot of a parking lot in Tulsa, Oklahoma. There was a discarded soda cup in the foreground. A dumpster in the back. It was, objectively, the ugliest photo ever taken.
Click on “Lock screen.” Yes. Yes. He was there. A menu opened. It showed three options: Windows Spotlight (the badger’s native habitat), Picture , and Slideshow .