BOULDER, Colo. –

Shhh! It’s charging in the other room and I don’t want it to know we’re talking about it — but between you and me, my new Macbook is scaring the shit out of me!

It’s too quiet, too fast, too intuitive and it has all my information.

It’s up to something, I can feel it.

I’m typing this up on my old Gateway, just so I can feel like I’m in charge again.

Because every time I find myself in front of the screen of my Macbook, I get the distinct impression that I’m using it on its terms.

It’s the same feeling that Roy Horn — of Siegfried and Roy — must have had in the back of his mind 1,000 times before the tiger he supposedly had “trained” decided to make an impromptu chew toy out of his mousse-infused head.

I mean, in both scenarios, it really boils down to the level of potential within the beast being tamed versus the level of action being required from the “master.”

In the case of Roy’s mangled head, for instance, we have a 500-pound, razor-toothed killing machine with instincts that would allow it to thrive and survive in some of the harshest wilderness environments on the planet.

And what was the most it was ever tasked to do? Sit idly onstage while two silk-and-sequin-clad euro-queens pranced around it for three hours before finally making it disappear.

Clearly, it was only a matter of time before the tiger decided life would be just a little more interesting with one of their tada-smiling domes in its grill.

And the situation is ominously similar with my Macbook.

Here we have a state-of-the-art piece of machinery so sophisticated that it could edit a feature-length Hollywood movie, produce the next Kanye West album and navigate a satellite through outer space — simultaneously.

And what am I using it for? To type up fart jokes and play beginner Sudoku on the Internet.

To my credit, however, by using Pages on iWork’09, I can create some of the most powerful, professional-looking fart jokes I’ve ever penned.

Of course, half of the time, I’m not even doing that. Mostly, I just sit there for hours on end adjusting the “Widgets” on my “Dashboard” and practicing “Trackpad Swipes” with “Expose” while pretending I’m Tom Cruise’s character in “Minority Report.”

Wow. Five Apple geek terms and a reference to one of Stephen Spielberg’s shittiest movies — that paragraph probably lost a few of you.

Needless to say, I’m quite confident my Macbook is fully aware of its intellectual superiority, and it’s only a matter of time before it flashes an infrared mind-control beam through the built-in Webcam, reducing me to little more than a Sherpa for its own bidding.

When I first opened up the inappropriately short user’s manual, a sentence from the first page read, “Congratulations, you and your Macbook were made for each other” — and a wave of fear came over me.

Because I don’t think it meant we “were made for each other” in a “Laverne and Shirley” or Brad and Angelina kind of way.

I think it was meant in a John Wilkes Booth and Abraham Lincoln kind of way.

Wait a second. Did you hear that beep? It came from the other room.

Oh my God. I think it’s done charging.

I think it’s … ready.