Hi, my name is Reginald F. Sanzabaum the Third.
You may call me Nick.
Tonight, we’re here to talk about printers. Yes, those cute little devices we all rely on to remind us that we hate trees and the oxygen they provide and that when it becomes the decision between getting a clear line-of-sight to the satellite dish for football, or a living thing that has been in the ground for longer than your filthy human bones has been on this godforsaken planet, it’s clear who is losing next Sunday. Yes, it’s hard to believe that in Our Year of the Bazooka Twenty-Fifteen, not a day goes by without me having to browse HP’s website for drivers to some printer that probably deserved a baseball bat Office Space style twelve years ago. But those TPS reports, man! Oh you are so goddamn funny. Is that “PC Load Letter” I see on your forehead? I think there was a winning lottery ticket in the parking lot…
But all fabulous humor aside, what if I told you, that you didn’t have to use a printer anymore? What if I told you, that with today’s technology, you could go your entire future, meaningless existence, without ever having to make another terrible birthday card for your estranged Uncle Barry “Diddles” Schufentinkle? Imagine that! You don’t even want to know what he did to the last six years of cards.
It’s really simple. Lean closer.
Not that close.
FOR FUCKS SAKE YOU ARE KILLING THE MOTHERFUCKING TREES THAT KEEP THAT BLAZING GOD AWFUL HOT AS FUCK DEATH BALL IN THE SKY SOME JACKOFF CALLS THE SUN FROM BURNING MY FLESH OUTSIDE JUST SO YOU CAN PRINT SOME SHITTY SALES NUMBERS THAT SOMEONE WILL READ ONCE, AND FILE IN A FUCKING DRAWER FOR TWENTY YEARS, UNTIL THEY EITHER SET IT ON FIRE TO KEEP THEMSELVES WARM AFTER THE FLASH FREEZE OF 2032 OR THE IRS AUDITS THEM LIKE I AUDITED YOUR MOTHER LAST NIGHT. THAT’S RIGHT, YOUR MOTHER IS A CLASSY LADY WHO DESERVES THE FULL REFUND FOR RAISING YOUR INCONSIDERATE ASS ALL THOSE YEARS, SO I HELPED HER ITEMIZE HER DEDUCTIONS, ACCOUNT FOR HER CHARITABLE DONATIONS MADE ALL YEAR, WE HAD COFFEE, WATCHED PART OF THE STATE OF THE UNION WHERE A MAN SAID SOME STUFF, AND I WENT HOME. IT WAS A PLEASANT EVENING. WHY AM I STILL WRITING IN CAPS? IT’S LIKE CRUISE CONTROL FOR COOL THOUGH. BUT I FORGOT TO STEER OH MY GOD—-
In short, use a tablet, a laptop, your phone, Dropbox, Drive, that thirteen-year-old kid down the street’s FTP server he’s totally not using for warez, and any electronic device to move around electronic files and view them from. You don’t need to print that stuff out, it’s cool where it is. But backup those important files. Shit costs like, two grand to get back. Not worth it for your stash of porn, but if you had pictures of your kids, well, they’ll always be disappointed in you. Christmas twenty years later. “Hey Dad!” they’ll say. You’ll put down your glass of eggnog and the paper with Fizz L. Bush, somehow-related to George W. Bush, picture on the front declaring MISSION ACCOMPLISHED for the opening of a Space Chik-Fil-A in orbit, to respond “Yes, kids?” and they will reply “Remember back when you lost our baby pictures when you dropped that jar of mayonnaise on the computer and it fried?” and you’ll stop, almost begin to cry, and then smack the shit out of them for buying you Miracle Whip instead of Helmanns. Ungrateful bastards. You don’t even like mayonnaise. You just laughed at a Jim Gaffagan joke once and they just kept that shit going for months.
In short, your printer is for rolling bacon and nothing more. Deal with that.