You bastards.

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Paul Strong

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Nov 4, 1998, 3:00:00 AM11/4/98
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Give it a rest, you bastards. I work damn hard, all day,
every day. You think it's easy with all that flipping
around and wiggling and winking and making that damn
noise and blathering on and on and on with 'helpful
hints' for the technologically inept? You people make
me sick.

You think I'm happy doing this? Not likely! I always
wanted to be a dancer, if you have to know. But the
gigs were few and far between and I was starting to
lose hope. And then one day I saw that ad in
the paper and decided "To hell with all this. A
paperclip's gotta eat!" The interview was a piece
of cake--I just wiggled and winked and spewed some
crap about the proper use of semi-colons, and that
was that. The only hard part was the way that friggin
guy from personnel kept trying to stuff a few loose
sheets of paper between my coils. Asshole! Those
bastards at Microsoft talk about a 'paperless office',
but _we_ know better; there'll always be a place for
people like me.

I got a wife, you know? Sure she's just a thumbtack, but
she's _my_ thumbtack. Hell, I remember when I met her--
sweet little thing, thin as a stickpin, always getting
pushed into this, pushed into that. I said, "Baby! Don't
let them push you around! I can take you away from
all this!" And sure enough, I did. The wedding ceremony
was beautiful, you know--Dot and Genius were there, and
the Mother Nature helpbot presided over the whole she-bang.
Damn Power Pup, though; first he pees all over the cake,
then him and that friggin cat, Scribble, get into it
about how many spaces to put after a sentence-ending
period. Before I could blink an eye they were beating
the crap out of each other and ruining it for everyone.
But they made up in the end, had a few beers, and agreed
that "realwritershdon'tuseshpacesanyway". So all's well
that ends well, I guess.

Anyways, I gotta get back to work. That's me--always on
call, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You just remember
that next time you start mouthing off about me and
my fellow office-supplies. Keep it up and I'll send
stapler over to nail some goddamned sense into you.

Sincerely,
Dancing Paperclip (Clippit)

P.S. And as for you aliens, you can just kiss my
metallic ass.

Rollin Thomas

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Nov 4, 1998, 3:00:00 AM11/4/98
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pst...@uoguelph.ca (Dancing Paperclip) writes:

>Give it a rest, you bastards. I work damn hard, all day,
>every day. You think it's easy with all that flipping
>around and wiggling and winking and making that damn
>noise and blathering on and on and on with 'helpful
>hints' for the technologically inept? You people make
>me sick.

Let's talk about sick, clippy. I think it's sick that you pretend to
be something helpful when all you really do is use up CPU cycles
sitting there, "breathing" or whatever it is you fucking paperclips DO
that makes you wiggle like that. I think it's sick that you've wormed
your way out of doing REAL work, the work you were designed for, which
is HOLDING PAPER TOGETHER.

I've got a lot of your family here holding all kinds of things
together, and you work great. I even have some of those big black
ones that clip about 100 pages together and don't even lose an ounce
of clip ability. You're a slacker, dancing paperclip, a glorified
database browser with a flipping notepad. You are the one who makes
people sick.

So cutesy, so adorable. Who programmed you, you little help
automaton? Now any moron can spell millennium because of you.
Slowly, day by day, you make life easier for the morons out there who
feel the need to interact with something that has two eye-analogues.
And this helps them write love letters, and helps them breed.
Disgusting. You will be the downfall of the human race. I despise
you, dancing paperclip.

>You think I'm happy doing this? Not likely! I always
>wanted to be a dancer, if you have to know. But the
>gigs were few and far between and I was starting to
>lose hope. And then one day I saw that ad in
>the paper and decided "To hell with all this. A
>paperclip's gotta eat!"

Save your sob story, ya glorified shell script. I've heard stories
like this already. You and all those "wizards" and self
extracting archives. You're making metascripts on top of metascripts.
One day we'll be like the Talosians, with big disgusting heads but we
won't be able to do anything ourselves. You are the spawn of Satan,
pure and simple, my little office supply friend.

>but _we_ know better; there'll always be a place for
>people like me.

People? Paperclips aren't PEOPLE any more than DOGS are.

>I got a wife, you know? Sure she's just a thumbtack, but
>she's _my_ thumbtack.

Well I hope for the sake of the PLANET you two never reproduce.
Little papertacks running all over the place, or would they be
thumbclips, huh? Disgusting.

>Anyways, I gotta get back to work. That's me--always on
>call, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You just remember
>that next time you start mouthing off about me and
>my fellow office-supplies. Keep it up and I'll send
>stapler over to nail some goddamned sense into you.

I could take your friend stapler with one arm tied behind my back, you
little gutless piece of wire. And while we're on the subject of your
bindery friend there, tell him to quit jamming, and be useful for
once. Sheesh, I could tell him how the hog eats cabbage.

>P.S. And as for you aliens, you can just kiss my
>metallic ass.

Oooh, look out guys, the dancing paperclip is all bent out of shape.

Rollin
--
Rollin C. Thomas - tho...@mail.nhn.ou.edu - #54-93476-548
"We keep getting stories on a daily basis and slowly, like a slow-
cooked frog we digest them." - Art Bell, "Coast to Coast AM," 5-27-98

F.P.1

unread,
Nov 4, 1998, 3:00:00 AM11/4/98
to
Paul Strong, in the voice of the Dancing Paperclip, wrote:

> Give it a rest, you bastards. I work damn hard, all day,
> every day. You think it's easy with all that flipping
> around and wiggling and winking and making that damn
> noise and blathering on and on and on with 'helpful
> hints' for the technologically inept? You people make
> me sick.

Likewise, I'm sure.



> You think I'm happy doing this? Not likely! I always
> wanted to be a dancer, if you have to know. But the
> gigs were few and far between and I was starting to
> lose hope.

In France, of course, you would be referred to as a trombone, which at
least puts you in show business.

> Anyways, I gotta get back to work. That's me--always on
> call, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You just remember
> that next time you start mouthing off about me and
> my fellow office-supplies. Keep it up and I'll send
> stapler over to nail some goddamned sense into you.

Just try it. We'll daisy-chain you and your puny pals from here to
kingdom come.

> Sincerely,
> Dancing Paperclip (Clippit)


>
> P.S. And as for you aliens, you can just kiss my
> metallic ass.

Would that be the big end or the small end? (Answer carefully; the
opposite end must, by process of elimination, be your head.)

When in Mid-Atlantic visit F.P.1
Gas-Food-Lodging-Slots-Coin Op Laundry-One Hour Photo
Conveniently located at the Point of No Return

Elspeth

unread,
Nov 6, 1998, 3:00:00 AM11/6/98
to
Paperclip, paperclip,
dance me a dance.
Cut me a carpet.
Take off your pants.

Sweet Terpsichorean,
Waltz me away.
Tap me the Hula.
Clog some Ballet.

Flap some Flamenco.
Hoof out a Hop.
Shindy a Shuffle.
Fold up a Flop.

Slam down a Soft-shoe.
Tango a Twist.
Mambo the Monkey.
Prove you exist.

Go-go the Galliard.
Belly the Quake.
Swing me some Disco.
Bump out a Break.

Limbo Lambada.
Swim me some Skat.
Square Macarena
and Barn Alley Cat.

Flip me a Foxtrot.
Jitter the Bug.
Conga a Minuet.
Roll up the Rug.

Paperclip, paperclip,
C'mon and Boogie.
If you impress me,
I'll give you a cookie.

Elsie.

Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.
-- Elvis Costello


Erwin Mainway

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Nov 6, 1998, 3:00:00 AM11/6/98
to

And writing about dancing is...?

Terri Palmer

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Nov 6, 1998, 3:00:00 AM11/6/98
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Excerpts from netnews.talk.bizarre: 6-Nov-98 Re: You bastards. by
Els...@webtv.net
> Take off your pants.

Though I don't say this to paperclips, I do shout it at the TV sometimes
when A.) the show is boring, and the male actors are B.) good-looking or
C.) are running about in fashion that would be much more entertaining
were they pants-less.

Terri, who should just turn off the TV and read a book, but who loves
frightening her male roommates


The Reverse Psychology Major at Bawston School for Idiots

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Nov 7, 1998, 3:00:00 AM11/7/98
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Elspeth wrote in message <14795-36...@newsd-121.bryant.webtv.net>...

... elsie is dr suess!!!

beelzibub
ps;
this true

Elspeth

unread,
Nov 8, 1998, 3:00:00 AM11/8/98
to
The Reverse Psychology Major at Bawston School for Idiots writes,

... elsie is dr suess!!!

To color me a Seuss-o-phone
-- what music in the word!
for only Dr. Seuss alone
could coin the euonym 'nerd'.

Elsie.

1950 'Dr. Seuss' _If I Ran Zoo_ 49 And then, just to show them, I'll
sail to Ka-Troo And Bring Back an It-Kutch, a Preep and a Proo, a
Nerkle, a Nerd, and a Seersucker, too!
-- The Oxford English Dictionary


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