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Fax Machine


If ever there was a machine put on this earth with the sole function to cause me grief it has to be the freakin fax machine. It's the paradox in my life the pits good against evil, if I fly then I must fax. We had a fax machine awhile back that seemed to work fine, someone had it programmed and all I had to do was put in the paper and push the speed dial. This ended one day when someone (ok it was me) tried to load paper thru the anal cavity and broke it good.


After a day or two of gleeful bliss the new machine showed up, on my shift of course. Now getting the darn box open only took 45 minutes and every utensil I could find in the kitchen. The med crew took great delight in laughing at me, but after some time their laughter turned to pity, and then disgust and they retired to their rooms.


Out of the box and on the desk, ok, lets see, ah yes the POH for this darn thing, French no, Chinese no, Spanish no, Klingon no, English yes, now we're cooking with gas. Gee I wonder if they could make the writing any smaller in this frickin book, plug into approved outlet only, approved by who, what the heck is an unapproved outlet, this is bullsh*t, I plug the darn thing in to the outlet on the wall and pop in the phone jack.


Ok, good to go, now I can fax in all these flight logs the head shed has been bitching about, not, nothing, dead. Ok, let's see, no lights, no nothing, so I take the POH out of the trash that I had just poured old coffee grounds on moments earlier.


Troubleshooting, cool, something I can understand. "Is it plugged in," duh, maybe I got one of those unapproved outlets, next, "Is it turned on" gee I don't know, maybe I should wiggle my dick at the darn thing. Turned on, darn there is a switch, well that's stupid, we never turn it off; I bet it's one of those fifty-cent extras that they charge a hundred bucks for.


Beep, beep, blink, blink and on and on. I start pushing every button until the noise stops, cool; I have mastered the darn thing, hail to me for I am victorious! On to the next step, "Programming your new fax machine" I'm going to tell you right now, you know how I programmed my VCR, I bought a DVD, next.


I have had enough of this crap, this is seriously cutting into my nap time, lets see, I'll put the paper in here face down like the old one and dial the number and one of these high speed kids that gets a chubby doing this crap and show off to the crew and program the darn thing on their shift. Beep, beep, boop, boop, send, ok the thing is taking the papers one at a time, good, storing it into memory, good, dialing, good, waiting, waiting, waiting, now what.


Now its printing something, well it better be an apology is all I can say, lets see. "Your fax (es) did not go through, either the line was busy or check your number and try again"


First of all, what the #### do you mean the line was busy, what the heck else does the line have to do? Check my number? Bullsh*t, you check your number. Ok machine, here's what we are going to do, I'm not going to check squat, but what I am going to do is push the numbers one heck of a lot harder this time so you can get it right. BEEP, BEEP, BOOP, BOOP, POW, SEND


Mission accomplished, once again I being superior to the machine have won a great victory, off to my nap and the counting of the bouncing hooters.


As I ease into my slumber the phone rings, no problem, nobody ever calls me, KLANK LINE ONE I hear bellowed down the hall, darn, "Hello, this is Klank, yes I did just a few minutes ago, what, blank, ok give me a minute, bye


As I walk down the hall muttering something about the fact that we should have dropped more bombs on the Japs I get to the machine thinking why the heck don't they put a sign on the fax saying face up when I see a sign saying face up were you put the paper. Now if that is not the most stupid place to put the sign, right were you cover it up with the paper.


It's pure evil, it's not the Axis of Evil, it's the Faxes of Evil


Better go now, Whiskey makes me mean and I haven't been paying enough attention to my beer.

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