I was a real wiseacre in the 1990’s. Shiftless, malcontented, and always looking to see if I could get people to reflexively answer stupid questions like,”do these stairs go up or down?”
When I managed to ferret a circa-1940’s typewriter out of a thrift store, I simply saw in it potential; I can move mountains. I can summon the Kraken from the nether-worlds.
I can also bait KFC into a goofy, proprietary defensive posture:
I know. I come off as the heretofore-mentioned wheel-short-of-a-bearing. But remember, all I was really looking for was the entropic output of the administrative department.
I wanted a direct response. At least I got them to look me in the eye: