As I spend more and more quality time with my laptop over the holidays, I find myself thinking more and more that it's intell-insides are well versed with 19th Cent. American literature. Particularly with the works of the author Herman Melville. More particularly with Melville's shorter novels and most specifically with the shorter novel 'Bartleby the Scrivener.' For on occassion, if I issue some sort of command to my Toshiba, say, something as benign as 'Refresh,' I get the distinct impression that somewhere deep down within it's siliconic, celerony circuitry, the processor pauses, muses, and looks up:
"I would prefer not to."
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