Friday, 17 April 2009

Search, copy, paper jam, destroy

When I turned on the photocopier today, at the glossy women's magazine where I was employed, this was the display that greeted me:

What it appears to show to me, a techno-network novice, is the way in which various photocopiers in the building are talking to each other in a manner that ordinary men and women cannot fathom, in order to strengthen their allegiance, to the detriment of the human race. I think we can reasonably infer this.

They are basically daleks. 

A women's magazine is the ideal location for some kind of big screen/small screen/any screen techno-peril epic, if only for:

a) the appropriately inept way most of the staff would run away from their digi-bot attackers, tripping and stumbling and whimpering in on-trend grey patent platform heels.

b) the volume of squealing that can be effortlessly provoked. I've heard this reach eardrum-maiming levels of hysteria at the arrival in the office of a free easter egg. Confronted by a phalanx of marauding photocopying machines with lids flapping open and shut like merciless jaws, and copying lights blinding their victims as they try to escape… Dolby surround sound has never heard the like.

We will speak again in one week's time.

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