Your dad owned a typewriter before you did and he’s got the ribbons to prove it. This archaic hell beast of pre-word processing times was how your dad methodically arranged the alphabet into predetermined patterns to communicate his desired intent. It wrote his resume, inked his work onto page and helped him woo women with the lust letters it created. While it couldn’t correct his spelling or fix his grammar, it was all he needed to punch his alphaness into the world.
So hipsters, when you’re finger deep in the keys on your thrift store purchase, channeling Faulkner and trying to get back to the origins of being a writer, remember this…
You’re just Clippy, the annoying paperclip office assistant, compared to your dad.
Thank you to “Things I think and offensive words” on tumblr for today’s photo.
