A classic pair of scissors.

At the risk of sounding like an old man guarding his lawn, or like I might be venting an Austerishly paranoid non sequitur, it occurred to me that one can't find a nice solid classic pair of scissors anymore, like the one pictured above.  Instead, one finds all manner of maddeningly designed versions of it, no doubt deemed to be more "ergonomic" with an eye to prevent a real, or imagined, carpal tunnel syndrome, but failing miserably to do the job they were intended to do: cut anything thicker than a slice of paper.

Why do I bring this up here?  I don't know; I think it's part of the same neurosis that has attended PC MC -- a seemingly small and circumscribed part, one nevertheless revealing a glimpse into a mindset that has forgotten how utopianish social engineering cuts both ways, when it cuts off its nose to spite its face, in blunting the deadly edge of the sword-blade anchored in tandem with the jihad of the pen.