The Scarred Smilie.

My hole puncher is leaking.

Every time I pick it up, a shower of perfect circles rains onto my lap, each identical to the last, in size, thickness and colour. They're simple and stupid and when I stabbed one with my pen, it wouldn't rip, it just took its disfigurement and kept staring at me like, ha, you can't break me!

Of course, then I threw them all out.

I think that's Morisette ironic. Or just murder.

Or maybe it's nothing at all.