“I’m so fucking not! Jebem mu tri pizde materine da mu jebem! Razbicu ga! Pizda mu materina printerska! Daj mi cekic da mu jebem mamu mamicu u pichku da mu jebem!”
“You can get your own hammer. No, no. Sit the fuck down. You’re not hammering the fucking printer in the house. Let me look on-line to see if there’s a solution. Go to the shops or something.”
I go to the shops for an hour. I return radiant with hope my marvellous wife, who is a witch with many powers, has fixed my printer.
“How’d you go?”
“They can get fucked. They reckon we need to by some kind of cleaning kit from them for $150, then pull the printer nozzles out of the printer and clean them, then see if it works.”
“If that doesn’t work, do they give us our money back?”
“Then they can get totally fucked! What a pack of smelly cunts! Fuck them! Fuck my life! I just filled the cunt with fucken ink! Two days ago! The cunt was printing like a cunt last night! Now it’s not! Fuck!”
“I think we should get a new printer. We’ve had this one for five years.”
I stared at her in horror. There was a brief but profound silence between us.
“Are you insane? Don’t you remember what happened when we bought this cunt?”
“I do. It was awful. You made me download all this weird software, which made your computer insane. Then you got Andrew to fix it, but it didn’t stay fixed. Then you finally got Al to come over after yelling at him for two hours on the phone while he tried to walk you through what you had to do and you couldn’t do it. Then the two of you got drunk on whiskey.”
“It was a fucken catastrophe! I am not going through that again.”
“We need a printer.”
“No, we don’t. I’ll just put all my documents on a stick and take it into town and the girls at the print shop can print them out.”
“Yes, because that’s convenient and efficient. What are they going to do if they read one of your MotoPG poems? The fuck is wrong with you?”
“I’m fucking unstable! My printer has fucked my life like a thousand cunts and the best thing you can come up with is to get another cunt just like it and fuck my life up even more!”
“Stop fucken screaming. The neighbours will call the cops. The cops will come here, take one look at you, then beat you like a mule, and take me to a women’s shelter. Then your life will truly be fucked. Calm the fuck down, then go and buy a new printer.”
I calmed down. I got in my car. I went to Officeworks and I got a new printer. It was white. The last one was black. I was hoping there’d be less evil in this one. But in my heart I knew that was not possible. And however bad my shit was before, it was about to get exponentially worse.
“Let me see if I can set it up.”
“You have to. Sure as shit I’m not going to make the attempt.”
“For the love of God, will you calm the fuck down? Technology has changed in the last five years. Maybe this will be simpler.”
The witch that is my wife then plugged everything in, pushed in the ink cartridges, logged onto a site she was prompted to log onto, pressed a few buttons on the printer, and in less than 15 minutes had the cunt paired to my computer, her computer, and her phone.
“Want me to pair it to your phone too?”
“Get the fuck away from me. What the fuck are you even? How the fuck did you do that?”
She just gave me one of those smiles. When she smiles like that I would level cities and burn nations to honour her.
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Boris is a writer who has contributed to many magazines and websites over the years, edited a couple of those things as well, and written a few books. But his most important contribution is pissing people off. He feels this is his calling in life and something he takes seriously. He also enjoys whiskey, whisky and the way girls dance on tables. And riding motorcycles. He's pretty keen on that, too.