Wednesday, April 26, 2006

First in a series of increasingly unpleasant conversations with Microsoft Word

Me: Oh, uh, I, uh, think you're mistaken here. You seem to have marked "theirselves" as, uh, not being a word.

Word: What?

Me: "Theirselves"--you have it underlined with a squiggly red line. Right there.

Word: Yeah? S'what?

Me: Well, the squiggly line, its...its just ghastly. There it is in all of its accusing redness, just sitting there judging me with its judgmental redness. Like its so perfect.

I know how to write, I really do, and that thing--that ghastly red thing--just sits like some damned glowering raven perched on its infernal perch, shrieking "Notaword! Notaword!" The line, its an obstinately beating heart, pump-pumping that accusing red through that accusing range of tiny bloody mountains.

That red line, its a jagged fissure in my consciousness, is all, which venting, diabolical fissure I can see through to the depths of hell.

Word: ...

Me: So?

Word: Oh no, do continue, you looked like you were enjoying yourself there. Of course, I fail to see how a mountain range can be "accusing"--but I'm just a computer program, so maybe I don't understand your creative, human metaphors. You know me, beep beep boop, blinking-red-light, and all.

And the Poe references? Could they be any more obtuse? But, again, I'm just a string of one's and zeros. What do I know? Not like I have all those enlightened, complex "emotions" you gooey, jello-bodied humans are always going on about. Quick question: So what's it like to constantly eat and defecate, eat and defecate? Do you ever feel a tad oppressed by the futility of it all?

Oh, and beep beep boop.

Me: I hate you.


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