Death From Above
No headbutts. I am in no mood to say hello.
You've seen Office Space. If you haven't, you're a twat and I don't want to speak with you. For the rest of the audience, you know that scene where they go postal on the office printer? I think I'm going to do the same.
The printer told me to open conveyance door 6 and fix guide 5. First things first, Mr. Printer, I tell you what to do, not the other way around. I tell you to print my documents with your black ink. I tell you to fax away my paperwork to places unseen. You don't tell me what to do, you hunk of cheap, foreign-made plastic.
Second, what's a conveyance door? You know what happened when I opened that door? I found the ink cartridge. No guide 5, no paper, I found ink. What good is a printer that, when it breaks, tells you to fix it erroneously?
I have two words for you, Mr. Printer: swing away. Next time I see you out on the street prancing around like you're some kind of god's gift to offices everywhere, I'm taking you down with a baseball bat to the scanner. How will your softly glowing green light handle that one, huh? I'll tell you how, by shattering into a thousand small not-glowing-anymore pieces, that's how.
Your days are marked, Mr. Printer. You shall tell me to "call for PM" no longer.
And just because I said so before, here's your mandatory link. Thank me later.
You've seen Office Space. If you haven't, you're a twat and I don't want to speak with you. For the rest of the audience, you know that scene where they go postal on the office printer? I think I'm going to do the same.
The printer told me to open conveyance door 6 and fix guide 5. First things first, Mr. Printer, I tell you what to do, not the other way around. I tell you to print my documents with your black ink. I tell you to fax away my paperwork to places unseen. You don't tell me what to do, you hunk of cheap, foreign-made plastic.
Second, what's a conveyance door? You know what happened when I opened that door? I found the ink cartridge. No guide 5, no paper, I found ink. What good is a printer that, when it breaks, tells you to fix it erroneously?
I have two words for you, Mr. Printer: swing away. Next time I see you out on the street prancing around like you're some kind of god's gift to offices everywhere, I'm taking you down with a baseball bat to the scanner. How will your softly glowing green light handle that one, huh? I'll tell you how, by shattering into a thousand small not-glowing-anymore pieces, that's how.
Your days are marked, Mr. Printer. You shall tell me to "call for PM" no longer.
And just because I said so before, here's your mandatory link. Thank me later.
posted by Rich @ 2:27 PM
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