The stapler stares with sharp, shiny eyes
As treacherous as a traitor's lies
It gives my thumb a mighty surprise
A "pop!" followed by my frantic cries.
It smiles hungrily at my wounds
The blood of my thumb is its' treasured boon
It yearns for the blood of a thousand more fingers
And oh! Why must this pain in my poor thumb linger?
I beg ye, mighty lords of Staples, sell this fiendish thing no more!
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