I was walking down the street when I thought I spotted him. It was just a small glimmer in the noontime sun, and it could have been anything. I had a feeling, though, that it was him.

I got a little closer and saw that I was not mistaken. Right there in front of me, looking a bit run down, sporting a bit of stubble, showing signs of rust, and sleeping in a puddle of his own urine was none other than Clippy: the paper clip assistant made (in)famous by Microsoft Word.

He looked unconscious, and I figured he'd be there for a while. After all, if you've already peed all over yourself, then you might as well just hang out and enjoy the sunshine.

I ran to the store, made a couple purchases, and came back. Sure enough, Clippy was still there.

I gave him a little wake-up nudge. He didn't respond, obviously out cold, so I gave him a good shake the second time, and that did it. He came to, raising his eyelids halfway to expose a pair of bloodshot eyes. He looked around for a minute and then started patting the ground around him, obviously trying to find something that he might have lost. If he was worried that he had lost his urine, then he was in luck, but I don't think that's what he wanted. He was probably looking for his booze.

I cleared my throat to get his attention. He was so out of it that he hadn't even made the connection between the stranger standing in front of him and his having woken up suddenly a couple minutes prior. He blinked once, suddenly looked surprisingly lucid, and asked me what I wanted.

I sat down next to him and introduced myself. I let him know that I knew who he was, and that I wanted to interview him for my web site. He eyed me suspiciously.

I expected this. Clippy wasn't exactly treated well during his time in the limelight, and a bit of distrust is perfectly understandable. Fortunately, I'm pretty slick, and had planned ahead. I pulled out a bottle of Mad Dog that I bought while Clippy was sleeping and handed it to him. That warmed him up a bit.

We sat and chatted for a while. Nothing big. Life on the streets, where the best soup kitchens are, how to maximize your spare-changed dollar. That sort of thing.

When he had finished the bottle, it looked like he was going to try to go back to sleep. I reminded him that I wanted to get an interview, but he ignored me. Lucky for you readers out there, I had also anticipated this.

I pulled a bag of airplane glue out and waved it in front of Clippy's face. He made a lazy attempt at grabbing it away from me, but to no avail. I just kept waving it back and forth in front of those bloodshot peepers, practically hypnotizing the poor guy. Moments later, he looked like he was in a trance and getting ready to channel Charlie Manson or something.

I stood up, still holding the bag in front of him, wiggling it back and forth like a worm on a fishhook. I still had his attention, so everything was going well, and I slowly began to inch back. Clippy followed.

Doing this, I managed to lure him back to my office. Once inside, I handed the bag to him, and he huffed that stuff like a pro. I'd never seen a paper clip get so high off of airplane glue faster than Clippy. He quickly passed out, but regained consciousness before long. He appeared to be a bit dazed, but in a much better mood, looking more relaxed.

I took this as my queue, and started with the questions.

Rory: So, Clippy. Where should we begin?

Clippy: Wha?

R: The interview. Where would you like to start?

C: Oh, well. I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore. Why don't you just shove this interview up your ass.

R: Here, Clippy - have a beer.

C: Ah, yes. The beginning. Now I remember. I was born around 1982 in a suburb of Seattle to a couple of middle-class paperclips. We didn't have a lot, but we weren't starving, either, you know? It was life, and life was that.

R: Sure. And what were your parents like?

C: They were, you know, parents. They did their best to make ends meet. My father was clipping full time, while my mother stayed home and watched after me. I was an only clip, you know.

R: No, I didn't know that. How fascinating.

C: Yeah. Anyway, I guess the first few years were good. I don't remember them very well, but my mom has a photo album showing three happy clips, so something must have been going right. But things changed around the mid-90s. Technology was getting better, and the paperless office was becoming more of a reality everyday. My father was having a hard time finding work since there was so little paper left to clip. He got by working odd jobs and things like that.

R: Odd jobs?

C: Clipping things that weren't paper. He started out as a sort of low-class money clip, but he got addicted to been close to greenbacks and soon got into the dark side of clipping. Before long, he was clipping things like dime bags for the dealers downtown, and that's when things got bad. Eventually, being so close to the stuff, he started to indulge a bit in the product he was supposed to be clipping, and that was the end of him. He disappeared one night for good after a fight with mom and never looked bag. Can't say I was sorry to see him go, either. He had a crazy look in his eyes by then. He was a clip you didn't want to mess with, you know? Society had given him everything and then taken it all away. That can do things to your mind - bad things.

R: Speaking of society giving everything and then taking it back, let's get back to you. What happened after your father left?

C: Well, I did what I could, you know? I saw what relying on The Man for work did to my father, so I was a lot less discriminatory. My mom needed money, and I needed to take care of her, so I just started clipping everything. It didn't even matter what. Napkins, gum, whatever. As long as somebody was willing to write me a check at the end of the week, I didn't care what I was clipping, so long as it wasn't junk. I wanted money, but didn't want to follow in my father's footsteps.

R: It sounds like you did all right. Where did all this clipping lead?

C: I clipped like that for a couple years until I had saved up enough to get out on my own. I left my mom with most of what I had saved, but took the rest on the road, and I saw a lot of crazy sh*t. I went and lived in a commune in eastern Washington for a while. That was a trip. It was just a bunch of young office supplies, looking to experience life. We had our own gardens - our own animals. We were totally self-sufficient. We even brewed our own moonshine, and it was crazy. Sometimes we had big love-ins, and nobody knew what was going on. It'd just be a tangle of paper clips, rubber bands, and erasers, undulating like a break-dancing jellyfish. Those were incredible times. Incredible times. Hey - are you going to eat those cocktail wieners?

R: No, you go ahead, Clippy. So you did the whole commune thing, and then what? You obviously didn't stay there.

C: You're very observant. No, I didn't stay. Wow - these are good wieners, by the way. Thanks. But, no. I moved on after doing that for a summer. You might not believe it, but there's only so much partying and sex that a paper clip can take, you know? And anyway, I wanted to get on with my life. I thought for a while that I might make a good actor or a model, so I headed back to the city and started trying out for parts. Turns out there isn't much demand for paper clips on the big screen, so I gave up on movies, but continued to pursue modeling. I had a lot of doors slammed in my face, but I eventually got my break in a catalog spread for Office Max. I agreed to do it naked, which was a little scandalous at the time, but the dot com era was just starting, and there was something in the air, so I thought, "Hey - why not?" Turns out to have been a really good decision because someone at Microsoft, just looking for some office supplies in that very catalog, spotted me and saw that I had something. Something ethereal - something the other clips in the spread didn't have. My friend up there, who will remain anonymous, even once went so far as to tell me that about twenty toner packs were purchased by Microsoft simply because of my having been in that catalog. That's a real mind-blower, let me tell you. One day you're nobody, and the next it's like you're Frank Sinatra or something.

R: Uh-huh. And what then? When did you start working for Microsoft?

C: It actually took a while for things to really get going. Some time passed before anything came of that initial phone call, but I knew they wanted me for something big, so I was never worried. I just passed the time, hanging out and waiting for the day when they'd want me to come in and sign the papers.

R: And then it happened, right?

C: Yeah. And then it happened. And, boy, did it ever happen. Before we get into this, though, do you have any whiskey around here? I've been talking a lot, and my throat's getting pretty scratchy.

R: Sure. Just keep talking - I'm recording the conversation. I've got some JD in the pantry. Be right back.

C: Keep on talking, eh? Fine. I will. I feel kind of stupid talking to this recorder, but whatever. I had just gotten back from a coffee run one Tuesday afternoon when the call came in. It was my pal up at The Firm, and it was good news. Microsoft was holding auditions for the new Office assistant, and the word was that most of the buzz up at the office was about yours truly, and that it was as good as mine. All I had to do was show up, and I can do that. I'm good at moving from one place to another.

R: Still talking? Here you go. Not a full bottle, but not too shabby, either.

C: Yeah, sure. I just want a little, anyway. You know, to loosen up a bit.

R: Right. Yeah.

C: Anyway, I was talking about the contract. So, I went up to the office just to show up, you know, like my friend told me to. There were a few other talking household items up there, too. I remember seeing a talking radio, a talking book, a talking plunger, and a few other talking things. They were all idiots, though. They didn't have that spark that I had. They didn't have the magic. And who wants help formatting a paragraph from a toilet plunger? Are you kidding me? That plunger was dreaming.

R: But you got the part.

C: Well, yeah, I got the part. I tell you, you're a regular Sherlock Holmes with all your deep insight and everything. I got the part, and I started the next week. Right off the street, just some clip from the 'burbs, and I had myself a seven figure a year contract.

R: Seven figures?

C: You gotta remember, Rory - it was The Boom, and companies were spending like crazy. Any average Joe could make a good living, but I was top talent. I lived and breathed the game, you know what I'm saying? I might not have been a city clip, but I wasn't a country bumpkin, either.

R: How was the work? Was it worth it?

C: You know, the work wasn't all that great to tell you the truth. There were a few people who treated me real nice, but I remember a few times when I'd show up and see the user on the other side of the screen just start to turn purple. It's like they didn't even want me there, you know? I don't know. Takes all kinds. But the perks were really good. I started hanging out with Search Dog after work, and he knew everybody. I thought I was big time, but he started introducing me to celebrities and industry bigwigs. I got caught up in the glitz and glam and started doing things I shouldn't. I remember doing lines off of Madonna's stomach one night. I invited Search Dog over, but he didn't want anything to do with it. He said blow hurt his nose and made it harder for him to sniff things out in people's computers when searching. You know, I have a theory that he eventually did get addicted to coke, and that it did hurt his nose, and that's why he can't seem to find anything when people want him to search, but I digress. Life was getting pretty intense.

Clippy with his friend, Mr. Diddy

R: So, there were rumors that you eventually got into some trouble. Do you want to talk about that a bit?

C: Yeah, well, you know. Some things happened that I'm not proud of. There was that thing with the transvestite, for example.

R: Transvestite? I haven't heard anything about this.

C: Well actually, you have, but you just don't realize it. Do you remember when Eddie Murphy got busted for picking up a she-male hooker?

R: Yeah, sure. But what does that have to do with you?

C: I'll tell you what that has to do with me - I'm the one who wanted that hooker. Eddie and I were hanging out that night, having a good time like always, when I was like, "Hey, Eddie - you want to go pick up some cross-dressing tricks and show 'em a good time?" Eddie didn't want to take part, but he said he'd come along. He's open to new experiences, and getting to watch a paper clip get nasty with a transvestite is certainly a new experience for most people. Everything was going well, too, but then we got spotted and the cops nailed us. Before they got to the car, though, Eddie and I talked it over. Since my career was just getting started and taking off in a big way, and since his was just winding down, he offered to take the fall for me. I would have argued against it, but you get nervous, you know, and I just hid in the ashtray while Eddie took the heat. It was awful, and I had to spend the next few days sleeping in that ashtray down at the impound lot until Eddie's lawyer came down to get the car. What a mess. I don't really mind talking about it now, though, since neither Eddie nor I have a career anymore to speak of.

R: Well, that's an eye-opener. Thanks for the scoop.

C: Don't mention it.

R: Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you also have your own conference and music tour there for a while?

C: That's right. How'd you know that? Most people don't know that. Anyway, yeah, I'll start with the conference first. Near the end of my career, although I didn't know at the time that the end was coming, I organized a conference called ClippyCon. It was supposed to be this big affair that was going to take place in four major cities across the US and attract thousands of visitors. It turned out to not be as popular as we expected.

R: What was it even about? I don't mean to be insulting, and you're obviously a pretty smart paper clip, but how could you have a whole conference just about you? What were people supposed to do there?

C: Well, you know, talk about Clippy things. Like, for example, different ways to use Clippy to be more productive, or how to maximize the value of the help system by leveraging Clippy. Stuff like that. Trade Clippy tips. And, like I said, it wasn't so hot. But, I'll always remember Geoff. Geoff was a great person.

R: Who's Geoff?

C: He's the guy who showed up.

Good times at ClippyCon

R: Oh. OK. And what about the music? What happened there?

C: The music thing was going to be a huge tour spanning 18 countries and featuring 28 bands. It was called "Clipapalooza," but never took off. We headed out and did a few shows to empty fields and empty stadiums. At the time, I thought it was the tour manager's fault, so I had him drowned in my swimming pool shortly after the tour came to a screeching halt, but I guess it turns out that the real reason the tour didn't get off the ground is that most people just didn't like me - they didn't want a paper clip to tell them what to do, and how to organize their documents, and why stationary A might be better than stationary B for this particular letter.

R: You certainly got that right. So, any closing thoughts you'd like to leave with the readers?

C: Yeah: Clip you, you bunch of whining bastards. See if ol' Clippy ever helps you pick the right background color for your resume ever again.

R: I don't think you could help, anyway. I mean, you did get fired.

C: Clip off. I'm outta here.

And then Clippy stormed out of my office. I haven't seen him since...