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			Stupid Faxes
	Damn Fine Authors Rentable Films Stupid Faxes   Chunk o' Thumb   Odieresis   Royal Tombs   Weary ---------------------------------------- What kind of an idiot would spend time crafting faxes for prizes? This idiot, of course. ----------------------------------------		Paper Relics Ahhh� relics from quieter days. Remember the fax machine? That confusing oversized phone that you stood over and hoped to God you dialed the right number? Remember the fun of actually getting a human voice on the other end of the line and frantically hitting the Cancel button? Now it's all taken care of remotely with services like eFax. But there was a day and time when I actually used one of these office beasts to try and win radio contest prizes. Yes, I had a job that boring and non-demanding that I could try and win radio prizes. Those were the days. Little responsibility, matching pay. Now I have a little more pay and a lot more responsibility. Not that the responsibility is important; it's not. Alright, I admit it. I am but a tiny cog in the Internet machinery, and I'm doing nothing noble with my life like curing diseases or designing a lawn chair that doesn't leave a waffle pattern on your ass. I leave these tasks to the learned and driven (in that order). But I leave these relics of my past fax days as a reminder of those simpler days. What will you get out of them? Absolutely nothing. Therefore I expect nothing in return. Deal? In fact, I'll go so far as to break our newfound pact. Here's a free tip for faxing DJs: I'm told they especially like the creative manipulation of stick men.     Chunk o' Thumb Self-mutilation is a desperate, desperate way to go. And one I don't recommend. But accidental mutilation can sometimes win you pity points. Capitalize on your pain!            Odieresis Aware Allow me to make you Euro-hip by making this oblique keystroke. Use it in emails, cocktail parties, as a favored sex sound.     Royal Tombs High-brow notions, low-brow follow through. This was my chance to see dead people and the stuff they used... and I sort of blew it.            Weary Against the Machine Weary of taking it from the man. Actually, I probably should wait a few more years and suffer some more so I can righteously complain about the man.

© sklender, 1996 - Until My Death, and then three weeks beyond that.