Angry Faxes

Some of you may not know this but I write angry letters pretty often. Sadly, it's a dying art form. Just the other day, I was about to write another letter in a long string of strongly-worded letters to Beyonce for not releasing an album in a long time. After page 53, my hand started to cramp so I decided to check my email, and what pops up? A little ad heralding the arrival of Beyonce's fifth album. Which she released without any press. This I can only attribute to my letter-writing. She must have felt compelled to go against the advice of her press agent and release the album prematurely due to my persistence. You are all welcome.

But my letter writing is starting to take up too much of my time, so I've decided to start faxing my threats, complaints, and grievances. I'm using all the time I've saved to fill up my medical oxygen prescription that I got to counteract Utah's haze problem. I have also begun using this time to hone my Parcheesi skills for the upcoming worldwide semifinals. This change has occured because one day while writing a letter to 'annah Montana I figured, "This is 2013! If only there were a better way to communicate using the power of electricity! One that could send messages instantaneously while still retaining a personal touch. If only such a device existed..." So I did a Google search and it revealed that a "fax machine," invented in the late 1970s, will do exactly that! My search also uncovered this revelatory piece about this machine's power and effectiveness:

http://www.cnn.com/2013/12/20/world/asia/north-korea-threats/

Problem solved. Now I fax all the time. I send angry faxes, I use them to catch up with distant acquaintances (catch-up faxes), I even ordered a pizza from Pizza Hut last week (pizza faxes). It was easy, I just typed out my order on Microsoft Word and taped a Jackson to the paper to show them I'm legit. And it has certainly made my life easier. I feel a Parcheesi championship coming my way.

But seriously, can we talk about North Korea for a second? I laughed hysterically when I read this article. I'm sure there is some reasonable explanation as to why they did this?, but it is still funny to think about. Some secretary for Kim Jong Un types out this pompous little message on official letterhead and then walks into the war room and waits for the modem to fire up. They are about to start the transmission when they realize no one knows the phone number for South Korea's Ministry of National Defense. So a secretary has to run to his desk and back to fetch his address book and then is taken outside by the utility shed and shot for his incompetence. The air gets a little stuffy while all of the highly decorated generals stare at the official Honorable-North-Korean-National-Pride-Fax-Machine while it beeps and boops and slowly scans the page one line at a time. But the page jams halfway through so they have to start it over. They do, and finally the fax finishes so they can all leave, but not before some soldiers take the Honorable-North-Korean-National-Pride-Fax-Machine out back by the utility shed and shoot it.

Actual Scenario Depicted.

Then Bob, who works in the South Korean Ministry of National Defense walks by the fax machine in the office three hours later and happens to notice they got a fax. He casually picks it up and puts it under the file that he is reading and goes back to his desk. Another three hours later he finally gets to it, and brings the coffee-stained paper into his boss' office. "Hey you better have a look at this, Larry," Bob says. Larry nods and waves him away and then goes home for the day. The next day, when it is finally discovered what has actually transpired, they write their response and, not to be outdone, they fax back AND wire message their own response.

So, what is the lesson to be learned? If it's good enough for Koreans, it's good enough for me.

PS - Go check your fax machine. You may want to prepare yourself for my forthcoming righteous indignation fax.

[Keep Following.]

Snowfall

I've been told that all snowflakes are unique, under a microscope

But that night all I could see were billions and trillions of the same--

All tumbling stumbling chaotic individuals desperately searching for their place

So much the same in their uniqueness

All stand-outs in a crowd, singing so loud they muffled even city-sounds

So unique that no one bothered to hear another
Pleading as he died upon my finger

[Keep Following.]