Elsewhere, I can only assume that the controller has been pumped full of helium, such is its hollow, airy lightness. It’s heavily inspired by the shape of an Xbox controller, and I particularly love the fact that its bumper buttons and triggers are simply formed from one immobile piece of molded plastic. There’s something quite beautiful in their utter uselessness that I enjoy very much.
As for the business end, it’s an ADHD nightmare, littered with a chaotic array of buttons in seemingly no logical order. I give credit to the designers for creating a controller that laughs in the face of muscle memory.
Initial attempts at turning Clippy on are unsuccessful. The on/off switch does nothing, and the charging light remains dead when the USB-C cable is plugged in. There are no instructions.
Opening the battery compartment reveals the culprit—the battery is disconnected. Was this to avoid it draining in transit, or to reduce the risk of spontaneous combustion? Either way, it’s plugged back in. Clippy lives.
And wow, he’s loud. The built-in speakers are beyond shrill. I desperately look through the carnage of controller buttons, hoping to find a volume or mute option. There isn’t one.
Naturally, I press Urinate first. Clippy’s hind leg raises. That, I expected. What I didn’t expect, was cheerful whistling, and the sound of water tinkling into a toilet bowl.
I look, and happen upon the Handstand button. This, I feel, will be an impressive test of his dexterity. A handstand maneuver will surely call upon multiple gyroscopes and accelerometers, combining and crunching data from numerous sensors in real time to ensure that Clippy’s body remains perfectly poised in balance.
I press the button, and Clippy immediately—and rather violently—face-plants. The force of this maneuver takes me off guard, and the impact is loud. I am worried.
A moment passes, his rear legs rise, and they begin to twitch. I presume this apparent seizure is meant to represent elegant scissor kicks. It’s reminiscent of how ants communicate with their antennae, a form of silent communication. “Don’t blame me bro, did you really expect anything else?” I can almost hear him plead. But, somehow, Clippy does return to his feet and appears unscathed, ready for more. Me? I’m not so sure.
Multitalented
As I mentioned, the controller has many, many buttons—no less than 17 functions in fact—and I’m not going to bore you with gratuitous descriptions for each one. Instead, here’s a quick rundown of the main buttons, to give you a general idea of some of Clippy’s talents:
Kung Fu: Absolutely zero semblance of any martial art moves, or even a cheeky backflip. Instead (and completely inexplicably), some form of poolside, Lost Frequencies-esque lounge music blasts out. Clippy “dances.”
Swimming/Dance: I recently saw Usher perform live. Both of these buttons involve vigorous floor-humping that surpass even his most sexually charged efforts. A truly impressive feat. Oh, and a side note for any optimists out there: Clippy is not waterproof. Do not, I repeat do not, introduce him to water.