Monday, 3 May 2010

bell the cat

I just tried to print my CV but my printer said no. It is not the job of my printer to decide what I can and cannot print. That is the job of my brain. My printer is supposed to make it so I don’t have to write out, by hand, 6 copies of my 5 page CV.

Technology is supposed to make our lives easier. It starts with sharpened rocks, which makes killing animals easier, so we don’t have to stamp and choke everything we catch to death, such as crickets, or berries.

It lightens our workload. My printer has done this by simply refusing to do what I want it to. It doesn’t want me to do any work at all, not even printing related, since if I can’t print my CV I can’t apply for any fucking jobs.

What’s worse is if I was sent back in time to when I’d be expected to kill a saber tooth tiger to survive, I would be shit at that too. I can’t sharpen a spear. I wear fucking slippers everywhere I go. I can’t even get my printer to work. I would be skull fucked by the first 80 year old, wheelchair bound, Neanderthal to cross my path, which it would do without thinking, I’m sure.

I don’t even want to go into town with my CVs anyway, so certain am I no one will give me a job. Some of them won’t even wait until I leave before they burst out laughing, set my CV alight and piss it out, only to set it on fire again.

This planet is great. But people invented forms. Forms! When we used to have trees and shit.

I guess my problem is I don’t know how to collect food. If I was put in a jungle and told GET YOUR FOOD I’d be all well, ok, but I only have 50p and I haven’t seen a supermarket in maybe 300 miles and I think I might die before I’m even a quarter of the way there?

And I would die within five minutes because I touched a frog that was blue.

I heard it was cows that we first started trading. That was maybe good for a while. But slowly we were weaned onto harder stuff, like chick-peas, chicken breasts, envelopes and now we’ve forgotten how to tie rocks onto sticks to catch our own chick peas and so I have to get a job, which I can’t fucking do anyway. And I’ve never owned a cow, which doesn’t seem as relevant as I thought it would.

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