A/N: WARNING - Names have not been changed to protect the innocent, however, some facts have been twisted to make it a little more interesting.

Paperclippe walked to her computer and hit the power button on her CPU, then on the monitor. She sighed. The little switches and fairy voices in her head were all telling her to do one thing: Wriiiiiiiite...you must wriiiiiiiiiiiite...

She sat down in the black, cushiony swivel chair in front of her computer desk and watched the Evil Dell start up.

The Windows 98 screen popped up and the little bar at the bottom did the color-changie thing.

She tapped her finger on the mouse's left button gently, not pressing it, but still hard enough for it to make a shallow sort of clicking noise.

The disk in the D: drive whirred as the desktop screen displayed. It was a picture of your classic alien sitting on a UFO, looking down at Earth with a bored expression on it's face. The start-up noise soon followed - A series of hollow, resonating notes, like those from a glass harmonica.

Two minutes and forty-nine seconds later (Paperclippe had timed it), the system was started and ready to go.

Paperclippe grinned a maniacal grin. Computers and the related topics were her salvation from that God-awful thing we know as reality.

She clicked the Start button, then moved the pointer to Programs, then her favorite. Microsoft Word XP - The ultimate pen and paper. Ah, how she adored it.

She opened a blank document, set it to HER font (Andale Mono, 10 point size), and began to type.

Or not. She laid her hands across the smooth, black keyboard, when it hit her like 72.3 and 4/9th tons of pure, unrefined Jell-O.

Paperclippe had the dreaded disease.

Writer's Block.

She sat silent for a moment, staring at the blinking cursor on Document 1.

Slowly, she fell off the chair and on to the floor, landing on her knees. She looked sky-ward... Er, ceiling-ward, clenched her fists at her sides, and screamed, loud as she could, off-key and quavering.


She woke up not too long after to find her screen saver had kicked in and her computer was making strange, bleeping noises at her.

Standing up quickly, she smashed her fist through the glass of the monitor and removed it. Just moments later, it exploded!...

...Well, okay, so no she didn't, but she would have liked to.

Actually, she got up, walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge door, shut the fridge door, walked back out of the kitchen, and sat back down in the computer chair.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

The cursor waited patiently for the un-inspired Paperclippe to type something, but she couldn't. She didn't have one thought in her head.

But the little fairies in her cerebral cortex kept yelling at her. WRITE. WRITE. WRITE.

It had gone from a simple, peaceful chant to an angry command. They were undeterred by this lack of coherent thought. The fairies knew what they had to do.

They lit the bonfires.

All at once, there was a blinding light in Paperclippe's already horrible vision. The heat from the fairies' fires, however, did not inspire her as was planned. Instead, it caused a throbbing pain at her temples.


Paperclippe got up out of her seat, went back into the kitchen, and took a bottle of ibuprofen from the cabinet.

She swallowed three or four of the disgusting white tablets.

After about a ½ an hour, the pills began to kick in, causing it to rain inside Paperclippe's head, slowly but surely extinguishing the fires and drowning the fairies one by one.

But no ideas surfaced from this brainstorm, no. Paperclippe was as clueless as before.

She sat down on the couch, looking broken, defeated. She was just about to die when it hit her. The most brilliant, genius thought filled her head.

She immediately rushed back over to her computer, woke it from it's deep slumber, and began to type. She typed the most amazing things; it was astounding how fluid the marvelous thoughts poured from her mind, to her fingers, and onto the screen. She typed swiftly and without err, for she knew what she was typing would one day prevent wars and maybe even save mankind from it's ultimate destruction...or at least make a really good movie.

But her joy was quickly diminished as the blinking cursor, once so full of life and energy came to a stand-still.

Paperclippe gasped. Of course, she did the natural thing, hitting a heavily practiced sequence of keys, she pushed CTRL + ALT + DEL.

No response from the computer.

More than a little reluctantly, she hit the three magic keys again. A blue glow filled Paperclippe's eyes and she focused on the white words.

Fatal Error.

Somehow, for some ungodly reason, she had accidentally activated the Blue Screen of Death.

She was afraid to touch anything, for fear that she may lose her genius writing, but she did what she had to do. She pressed Enter.

But nothing happened.

In a frantic rage of hysteria, Paperclippe slammed her hands on the keyboard, hitting every key in her fingers' span.

But the computer refused to yield.

Instead, a high-pitched beeping noise, otherwise know as the PC Beep, told her that those keys were no longer effective.

She knew what must be done.

Paperclippe placed her hand on a small, out-jutting wire on the back of the computer.

Manual Override.

She yanked out the main power cord, cutting off the CPU's life source. In essence, she killed it.

She knew, too, why the computer had had to die.

The Gnomes that lived in the microchips were very happy that Melissa had found the key to all human knowledge as we know it, so the decided to throw a party in her honor, complete with hallucinogenic drugs and alcoholic beverages.

But as we all know, Gnomes have no head for alcohol, and get very drunk very easy.

And THESE Gnomes were particularly angry drunks.

So, after consuming far too many six-packs of Bacardi Silver, the Gnomes in a drunken fit, unbeknownst to them, sabotaged Paperclippe's computer from the inside.

Paperclippe, in brutally murdering the computer, had really done the right thing.

And of course, she couldn't recall one iota of what she had written, so she went upstairs to her room, grabbed a stupid pen, a stupid yellow notebook from school, and wrote this stupid story.


A/N: Yes. I was THAT angry. Anyway, it was four in the AM, and I was feeling a bit woozy. Yes, I REALIZE this is dumb, so if that's what you're going to review, don't bother. I know.