I sometimes think of Clippy, and where he is now. Maybe selling pencils down on skid row. Following passers-by, his breath reeking of Jasco. "Hey... mister..." he slurs. "It looks like you're trying to get away from me! Here are some options you might try."

And as his victim hurries away, the tears roll down Clippy's face. "I just want to help. Only to help."