An Open Letter to My Wordprocessor

This is my entry in Open Letter Ad Libs, brought to us by So I Went Undercover. The letters are meant to be funny and not hurt anyone. You’ve got to check these out, maybe add your own. The Cracker Barrel Waitress and White Trash Neighbor entries had me laughing out loud. It’s on until Oct 31. Orange type represents my contribution.

Dear Wordprocessor,

I have been trying to forget that I feel this way for quite a while, but I can’t pretend anymore.  I am really sick of your overbearing, invasive autocorrection.  You know when you capitalize after abbreviations and turn words every tenth-grader should know into easy-reader English?  Well, let me share how that makes me feel…  When you transform my paragraphs into aggressively formatted lists, I feel violated.  Not so much annoyed or even irritated, but really, really edgy and paranoid.  It makes me want to shove a Basic English Grammar down a programmer’s windpipe.  I would like to think that I am not the only one who feels this way.  As a matter of fact, you know all those people out there who have started writing longhand?  Well they told me that you had killed their muse.

You know what they say:  If one person says you’re an ignorant hack, you can forget it.  When two people say you’re pedantic and self-congratulatory, you might want to consider it.  When three people say you’re an invasive, unwanted presence, like cat poop on a bridesmaid’s shoe, you might want to ratchet down the frequency of your uninvited suggestions.  It’s about that time for you, grammatically challenged control freak.  Think about that.

Since we are being so honest, there are a few other things I would like to air.  I hate it when you squiggle my sentences because you don’t understand comma use or you think passive voice is a criminal offense. It makes me froth at the mouth.

I also hate the way you can’t learn that I want to use a different font.  Every time you revert to Times New Roman I want to insert a debilitating binary code into your executables.

Also, spelling is not your real friend.  Remember that secret that you shared?  Well Webster’s Dictionary shared it with everyone.  Now everyone knows you have the vocabulary of a middle schooler,  and they all laugh at you behind your back.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.  I really like you.  I value our relationship.  But I cannot go on pretending mind-numbingly irritating autocorrection hasn’t happened.  If you care enough about me and this relationship, I am sure you would agree to back off and let me type in peace.

Still friends?

Fondly,

JP

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