And on the eighth day God created printers
Mar. 8th, 2010 06:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ganainmAnd God looked, and beheld what He had created, and it was good.
And the Lord God said, Behold, man has it too easy. The serpent will cause him to fall, and he will have to get his living by the sweat of his brow and live in labor and tribulation all his days, but that is not enough. He must really suffer.
And the Lord God summoned Satan to Him, and demanded of him how man could best be tormented. And Satan answered smiling: I will create something.
Nothing major, saith God. Touch not the kernel, lest all thy processes be killed.
Wouldn't dream of it, saith Satan. I have in mind a mere peripheral, an output device.
Go to it, saith God. Go nuts.
And Satan labored in the bowels of the earth for an hundred days, smelting and hammering and forging the most noisome, foul and recalcitrant of elements in the most recondite and fiendish designs. And when his work was complete, he saith unto God, Behold, I have created that thou asked of me.
What is it? saith God.
It is called a printer, replied Satan.
What doth it do? saith God.
It doth all that is asked of it, saith Satan, but maddeningly slow, and never quite right. When one sendeth a job to it, the job will disappear, or sit in the queue for length of days, never to be driven out, not by curses, nor imprecations, nor teams of bellowing oxen. And if the printer actually accepteth a job and printeth it, behold, its nozzles will clog, its ink will run out, its paper will go in crooked and come out wrinkled like a palm frond, if indeed it cometh out at all. When man beholdeth his work on the screen, he will say, Lo, it is as fair as gold; but when he beholdeth what cometh from the printer he will say, it is the work of Satan.
The man will simply destroy it in his wrath, saith God.
Chip off the old block, saith Satan.
Watch thyself, saith God.
Fear not, saith Satan, for man will not destroy the printer, nay, he will cherish it and cater to its every whim. And every now and then it will produce a perfect page. And man, in his pride and folly, will think he has finally figured out the driver, the ink, the paper, and all else, and again set to work rejoicing. And then the printer will resume its old tricks, and he will curse and rend his garments, saying, Woe that ever I was born.
And the Lord God did try out the printer, and it did even as Satan said. Lo, saith the Lord God, this thing is diabolical; it is a parcel of dung, of mighty odor. And He was moved to smite the printer with fire and brimstone, but He did catch himself, saying, Satan has worked a wonder; I will leave it to afflict man for all his days.
And thenceforth when God needed a printout, He wrote with fire on tablets of stone, because it was easier than getting anything decent from the printer.
And the Lord God said, Behold, man has it too easy. The serpent will cause him to fall, and he will have to get his living by the sweat of his brow and live in labor and tribulation all his days, but that is not enough. He must really suffer.
And the Lord God summoned Satan to Him, and demanded of him how man could best be tormented. And Satan answered smiling: I will create something.
Nothing major, saith God. Touch not the kernel, lest all thy processes be killed.
Wouldn't dream of it, saith Satan. I have in mind a mere peripheral, an output device.
Go to it, saith God. Go nuts.
And Satan labored in the bowels of the earth for an hundred days, smelting and hammering and forging the most noisome, foul and recalcitrant of elements in the most recondite and fiendish designs. And when his work was complete, he saith unto God, Behold, I have created that thou asked of me.
What is it? saith God.
It is called a printer, replied Satan.
What doth it do? saith God.
It doth all that is asked of it, saith Satan, but maddeningly slow, and never quite right. When one sendeth a job to it, the job will disappear, or sit in the queue for length of days, never to be driven out, not by curses, nor imprecations, nor teams of bellowing oxen. And if the printer actually accepteth a job and printeth it, behold, its nozzles will clog, its ink will run out, its paper will go in crooked and come out wrinkled like a palm frond, if indeed it cometh out at all. When man beholdeth his work on the screen, he will say, Lo, it is as fair as gold; but when he beholdeth what cometh from the printer he will say, it is the work of Satan.
The man will simply destroy it in his wrath, saith God.
Chip off the old block, saith Satan.
Watch thyself, saith God.
Fear not, saith Satan, for man will not destroy the printer, nay, he will cherish it and cater to its every whim. And every now and then it will produce a perfect page. And man, in his pride and folly, will think he has finally figured out the driver, the ink, the paper, and all else, and again set to work rejoicing. And then the printer will resume its old tricks, and he will curse and rend his garments, saying, Woe that ever I was born.
And the Lord God did try out the printer, and it did even as Satan said. Lo, saith the Lord God, this thing is diabolical; it is a parcel of dung, of mighty odor. And He was moved to smite the printer with fire and brimstone, but He did catch himself, saying, Satan has worked a wonder; I will leave it to afflict man for all his days.
And thenceforth when God needed a printout, He wrote with fire on tablets of stone, because it was easier than getting anything decent from the printer.
