I’ve always found it a pleasure to pull a perforated paper apart at the seam. There’s something satisfying about doing it neatly. Then throwing it away, of course, since perforated paper is mostly used for tickets, or mail-in offer forms, or at least it used to be.
Anyway, I wrote a poem about the imaginary person whose job it is to perforate the paper. It’s called - surprise! - The Perforator, and is up at Star82.
I bet this baby would enjoy tearing paper along the perforation too.