The mouse clicked incessantly as Ben stared at it. Then the monitor clicked on. Behind him, the blue-rimmed clock on the wall clicked. Actually, it ticked, but it sounded rather more like clicking to Ben, whose eyes were fixed upon a mouse that would not stop clicking. The clock, incidentally, was ticking in unison with the mouse clicking, or perhaps it was the other way around.

But with the advent of the monitor clicking on, Ben ceased his payment of attention to the mouse and instead started writing his checks out to the monitor. As he stared intently at the screen to whom he was now indebted, he saw the hand-shaped cursor, its fist opening and closing in correspondence to the incessantly clicking mouse and, therefore, also in conjunction with the clicking, ticking clock.

At about this point in time, Ben, becoming bored with the once interesting mouse clicking and clock ticking, decided to take inventory of his hands.

His left hand was sitting conveniently on the computer desk, left of the keyboard. The index finger of this hand was sticking out, as though poised and ready to poke something. His right hand was resting on top of the mouse, pointer finger lifting up and pressing down and lifting up and pressing down at a rate that, coincidentally, matched the rate of the ticking second hand of the clock.

Glancing back at the clock, Ben realized it was battery-run and it wasn't actually his fault it was clicking or ticking. Except of course for the fact that he was the one who put the battery in it and mounted it on the wall in the first place.

All this clicking was driving him slightly bonkers, and it was time for a mini-vacation. Now, would it be Radio Shack or Best Buy?


The review button is lonely. It really wants you to click on it and make its day. Would you be so kind?