There was once a man. His name... was "Man". He had no name, he wanted no name. His favorite thing was typing. He spent all day typing useless things that would lead him no further in life. All he thought about at work, was getting home and doing nothing but typing for the next few hours before drifting off to sleep. The only meal he'd have in a day would be breakfast, but his breakfast was much larger than most people's. Usually, he'd have three medium rare steaks and twelve, boiled eggs.

Because of his unusual desire to type most of the time, he had no friends. Nobody wanted him as their friend. Nobody liked him, but because of this, he grew lonely. At first, it was just a thought in the back of his empty mind, but soon it grew into a monster, taking over his life.

He knew, or at least, he thought he knew. The only way to make friends with somebody was to give up typing. This was his task. But of course, when he did give up typing, he was just as sad as before. He felt he needed to type. And as well as that, his job became harder too. Instead of using the old desktop in the office, or the even more aged typewriters in his study, he'd have to write everything out by hand. He felt a part of his personality had simply drained away from him.

Now, he came to another conclusion. Instead of having to give up typing, he'd do normal things, as well as typing. He would let nobody else know that he had a desire to type one hundred percent of the time.

From this moment onwards, he started to go outside, and do normal activities rather than simply typing all the time. But he still felt something was wrong...

So he just went back to typing all day, every day.