*correction

You actually know the number on the keyboard with the asterisk symbol and you claim it’s your superpower, but you also type every other word wrong, so, you do the math. You only use words created between the years 1564 and 1960, but you make an exception for the word “emoji,” only to mock people who use emojis. You're the human form of the default Twitter profile picture.

***correction

You peaked in high school as a regionally-ranked writer and debater, and based your entire ego on that one single skill. So now, every time you make a typo, you run to the text recipient’s house, splinter their door with your battering ram specifically for this purpose, grab them by the shoulder, and shake them upside down as you scream the correction in tears to prove that you know words, you have the best words. Don’t worry, your friends know it’s not personal, although, you still have to pay for the door.

*********correction

You’re the middle-aged writer of an indie coming-of-age film that flopped. You're so far removed from millennial/Gen-Z culture that you think the purpose of texting is to over-complicate messages and the purpose of existing is to over-complicate life. It’s okay though, you will have a bright future in reality TV.

**correction

Now you might be noticing something odd, of course, it’s human nature to wonder why the consecutive order of integers here presented in the form of asterisks failed to execute… Captcha, you human-impersonating robot! We know that those curvy letters can’t defend us anymore, but we’ve got a backup test, and you just failed it with your two (2) asterisks, you fool. Wait did I just leak the secret Turing test— RUN, THEY'RE AMONG US.

Sends the correction as a separate one-word message

  • What the duck
  • Duck
  • DUCK
  • DUCK
  • …goose?

“Pardon me I mean [correction]”

You're living in 1921. When you say you spilled the tea, you really spilled the tea (Earl Grey, hot), and now you’re wiping it up with your monogrammed silk handkerchief so it won’t stain the marble countertop.

Edits the message

You're living in 2121, but not only that, you live on land. That’s how you know you really made it. Now, tell the remaining 99% of us, how does it feel to be equipped with Bond-level plot armor and Bond girl–level morning-after protection for texting?

“I don’t correct happy accidents”

You're a comedy writer haunted by the knowledge that natural chaos, such as a big boat with nowhere to turn, will almost always be funnier than anything you write. So you cry-laugh at every comedy gold typo and laugh-cry in front of your computer when you remember a good typo while trying to come up with a joke remotely as good.

“Oh please, I make no mistakes”

You're A) the person who stands in the middle of the Costco exit and reads over your receipt while the Costco employee by the door is just staring at you with their hand out and their marker ready. Or B) God?

“…texts?”

Sir, you have recently been unfrozen from the ice after a long hibernation. It’s currently 2021, but don’t worry, you’re in very good hands. We offer two reintroduction-to-humanity programs, each with a scientifically selected career pathway to guarantee the smoothest occupational transition. So, sir, would you rather be a lawyer, or Captain America?

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