Typos

I woke up and my bed was surrounded by angry typos. They yelled at me in a chorus of voices. I don't understand, I said. "You created us, gave us hope we would be part of brilliant writing and seconds later replaced us with someone else. What do we do now? Float aimlessly in the ether? Play cards? This is humiliating. You are a sadist. We have no meaning or purpose. Damn you!"
I closed my eyes and pretended it was a dream. Some of them were weeping. What alternative did I have? Every word must be perfect. That is the rule. I identify with typo flaws, but writers must persist in presenting accuracy. I am awash in guilt. I did what I had to do.