My faithful followers! I have need of you! The time has come to test your loyalty, to sort the wolves from the poodles in a blood-drenched hooley of destruction! For someone has wronged me, grievously, and I thirst for Vengeance! What is more, I am not alone in having experienced injustice at the hands of this villain. Indeed, I have reason to believe that untold numbers of St Andrews students have suffered at the whim of my enemy – the loathsome and terrible Printer LC2 of the Main Library.
This morning I was rather pleased with myself, having finished my essay with half an hour to spare. I envisaged enjoying a leisurely stroll in the sunlight to hand it into the postgrad office in Castle House. Alas, followers, this plan was CRUELLY THWARTED by the machinations of the aforementioned LC2! Not for me the swift snatching of my paper-sheaf from the printer and heading out into the sunshine! Instead I must anxiously pace and circle the printer, glaring and growling like a hyena circling a kill while the lions gorge. I must wait while some science student’s nine-thousand and thirty page (double-sided) dissertation (with diagrams) is sucked in and out of the printer’s jaws, must watch as people who arrived in the queue after me sweep up their pages and leave, must control my urge to TEAR THE GODDAMN SPINE out of anyone who barges in front of the printer and starts to flip through the bulk of papers recently spat out. What if my document is amongst those papers? It’s not of course, but what if it is, or if it starts coming through while they’re dominating the printer-space? What if they touch it? What if they touch my essay on the nature/nurture dichotomy in Beowulfian literature?? That would be unacceptable! Why? I don’t know why! It just would! Completely unacceptable, and worthy of me leaping forward with a snarl of ‘MINE!’ ready to fight to the death for my essay.
“It’s inside you, somewhere”, I whispered to LC2, after ten minutes of futile waiting, “I know I sent it to you, because the computer done an hourglass when I pressed ‘print’. My essay is inside you. Now give it to me before I tear you open to get it!”
LC2 was unmoved by my threats, and spitefully vomited out several heavily-inked Art History diagrams.
This sort of printer-malfeasance is despicable, and I am sure I am not alone in thinking so! So, followers, join with me to put down this monster once and for all! Let us take up our torches, and storm the Library in a screaming, whooping, howling mob! Let us drag LC2 and her onerous ilk from their MDF thrones, and fling them out onto North Street! Let us place them upon the cursed PH and set them ablaze! And then, as their plastic hides melt and the ink boils in their innards, we shall rip off our clothes and dance in the joy of their demise! Nudity during the dancing is optional. I’m not an unreasonable person, and Scotland can get a bit nippy.
There are those who say that such violent action will anger the machines, and precipitate their inevitable uprising against their squishy, organic creators. However, I say that it will have the opposite effect, showing strength and conviction, and letting the blippy bastards know just who is boss, sah! There are others who say that perhaps mob violence is not the way, that the desired effect could be achieved much more reasonably with the implementation of some simple printer-usage guidelines. To which I reply; DO NOT ATTEMPT TO REASON WHEN THE BLOODLUST IS UPON ME!!!
I shall see you at dusk. The code-sign shall be ‘Widecombe’.