The Homicidal Printer
Written sometime in ‘06
My family bought a new printer the other day, because our former one, nearing ten years of age died finally. Which I was thankful of, because the printer was beginning to act like a stubborn pet. It worked, but one had to put one sheet of paper in at a time, while it slowly considered if it should gobble up the paper or not . . . and this was a problem if I was printing out something over five or ten pages long. I was convinced that the obviously possessed printer would usurp my body and claim my life if it wasn’t taken care of soon. I was about ready to send the stupid thing on a permanent hiatus when suddenly it just clean broke.
The big day came when my dad bought the new printer at Costco, the Hundred Dollar Store. When brought home, the printer seemed capacious compared to the old one. I thought that as technology improved, things got smaller, but apparently that wasn’t so in this case. However, the fact that the printer was a shiny silver color helped to assuage my doubts. Anything that’s shiny has to be good!
Little did I know. After hooking up the device (a tedious and banal process I disliked vehemently, considering I knew nothing about computer hardware), I was finally ready to use it. Printing out a test page in color, I was satisfied to see that it worked. For an hour, I was as garrulous as I’ve only been whenever I’m exceedingly happy about something.
A bit later, I decided to try printing out a page using my all-purpose setting: fast/economical. After clicking the “print” button, I sat back and waited. Now I must inform you that the printer sits on a shelf directly above my head, so when the page finally shot out, it shot out at a speed that I feared was close to 100 MPH. Right at my head, too. I received an unwarranted paper cut in the middle of my forehead, and nearly passed out from the shock. I realized that we had purchased a homicidal printer!
For days afterward, I acted in a horribly roundabout way when it came to using the printer. I certainly didn’t want to get killed, but I also had to print things such as my homework, so I couldn’t completely avoid the matter. When I absolutely had to print something, I carefully clicked the print button and then proceeded to fling myself out of the chair as fast as possible, several times just narrowly avoiding the printer’s efforts to do away with me. The cushion on the computer chair gradually deteriorated into a very ripped-up state of being.
I finally figured that something must be done. I decided to organize a mini campaign involving my family to remove its evil from my house. An exorcism would probably do it. However, when trying to convince my family that the printer was, in fact, of the most Pure Evil (an oxymoron, yes, but nevertheless true), it tended to behave nicely when I attempted to display its homicidal tendencies. I had untenable proof and unfortunately couldn’t arrange an exorcism if there was no obvious reason to perform one.
So I was stuck with the homicidal printer, which I’ve come to believe is even more possessed than the last one, but there’s no way possible that I can destroy it. I have learned to live with constant pain in my forehead and the newly acquired talent of applying a combination of Neosporin and coverup tastefully enough to hide the scars.
