I’D LIKE FOR A HAPPY LITTLE PERSON, maybe no more than a couple inches at most, to make a nice home on my shoulder. Then, whenever I put fingers to keyboard, he’d quickly jump down and somehow hit control-alt-delete all at once. Then the little jerk would say, in that calm, tiny, itty-bitty Obi-Wan Kenobi voice of his, “Write something nice. You’re starting to depress me.”
And I would be forced to co-operate, because you couldn’t say no to this little terrorizer. He’d kill ya.