Funnier than your grandma

Let it be known, Printer, that you have renewed my faith in Christ. If you exist, filled with the Devil’s colors and rage, then so must God.

I need you to print out 24 color photographs. I know that you said you could do it before when I fucking bought you for this purpose, but I can see that it’s just too much for you. Especially when that’s your entire purpose in life–that responsibility must be crushing.

You are a printer, and that is literally all you do. You do not write documents, you do not light things on fire (yet), and you do not make me tea. You only print, and yet you are refusing to do even this.

I spent $83 on only four ink cartridges for you today, knowing it would take all of them and a miracle and perhaps black magic to get all this done in one night. I faithfully removed the paper tray that you were built with because when you use it, you get frowny and shred up all my expensive-ass photo paper. I am, unbelievably, loading the sheets one by one…by hand…for an hour.

I just need 24 pages.

Yet, here we are. I didn’t know you could choose to cancel documents on your own. After I looped one sheet of paper through you 8 times, you sure as Hell did. You can and do arbitrarily choose to print some pages, and not others–both out of order and in more than one case, from a separate print job four weeks ago.

Sometimes, you pretend to print, but in reality you just make all the mind-erasing noises and then spit out a white sheet with a massive streak of brown across it. You’re literally shitting out what I need for tomorrow.

It’s been 3 hours now, and we are at an almighty impasse. I need this for tomorrow, and you know that, and now I’m crying on my couch and wondering what I did to deserve this. I would have done anything, literally anything if you will print these last 2 pages for me.

While you were finally clipping along at a decent pace of one sheet every five minutes when you ran out of color ink and didn’t let me know. You printed four sheets of monstrously distorted images. I replaced the color cartridge, and reprinted the rotted horrors you tried to pass off as color prints.

Then you had the gall to call me out for replacing your apparently holy ink with a used cartridge. Even though all your self-tests proved color-correct, you would not print my photos in anything other than a sepia tone.

I give up. This will have to do. Unintentional Old-Timey Photo is at least better than no photo.

I hate you, printer. I hate you so much.

My Hell is not filled with fire, nor brimstone, nor tearing of flesh or screams or lakes of horrific death. My Hell is nothing more than the need and yet inability to print something out.

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