A Terrible Inkjet Tragedy

  • Thread starter Richard Steinfeld
  • Start date

R

Richard Steinfeld

It is my burden to share an awful experience with you, my pain and my
suffering.

I bought refilled Hewlett-Packard cartridges for my printer. I am
ashamed to say that the seller would not tell me whose ink is in the
cartridges, but I threw caution to the wind and bought them anyway,
seduced by a price that I could actually afford and the promises of
complete compatibility and excellent results. I also bought cartridges
for my brother's printer. I mean, the cost of the printer manufacturer's
supplies would put me in the poorhouse, right? It's either my brother's
life-saving medications or printing. We're already buying his drugs in
Mexico just to pay for our gasoline just to get back and forth from his
many doctor visits. It came down to either aftermarket ink, applying for
charity, or just not printing at all. What else could I do?

I installed the refilled cartridges in my machine and then put a pair in
my brother's. I then sent a print job to my printer. In less than a
minute, the printer began to make an unusual squealing sound which
quickly became a loud, angry screech. I smelled a hint of smoke. I went
to the printer to see why it was making the noise, peering closely
through the paper exit at the print heads. Just then, the printer
exploded, assaulting my face with hot ink and shrapnel. I'm lucky that I
can still see!

I had to go to the emergency room. My face was bruised and blotched with
four colors. My injuries rapidly became infected, swelling up with
subcutaneous pus and ink. As I entered the emergency department, people
looked at me with a mixture of disgust and horror, moving away. One
woman made the sign of the cross; another attempted to protect herself
from me with her crucifix. Some of my hair was burned off by the
explosion, and I have blisters on my scalp.

But I was not able to immediately tend to my wounds. Just after my
printer exploded, my brother screamed and I heard a muffled roar. His
printer was half way through one of his most cherished photos: a picture
of former FBI director J. Edgar Hoover in high heels and a dress as
Tolson looks on admiringly (you can just make out Roy Cohn in the
background), when his printer, too, exploded in a blast of ink and
parts. Fire and smoke poured from his computer, caused by the printer's
outraged feedback through his universal serial bus cable. Not being so
close to his machine, he was spared the same injuries with which I am
now so desperately afflicted. His only regrets are for his ink-spattered
walls and papers, and himself -- now without a printer or a computer.
Luckily, a shower and soap took care of his skin, although for a while
there, I was worried about him: he looked like he'd been
paintball-hunting with Dick Cheney. Sadly, his collection of Hoover
photos has been ruined forever.

After a six hour wait, the doctor treated me. He lanced my abscesses,
which released a foul-smelling steaming swill of hot pus and ink all
over the examining table, the floor, and the doctor's clothing. The
doctor turned his face away in disgust at the smell. An orderly came by
with a mop to clean it up. The doctor told me that I was his third case
this week with injuries caused by patients who had been seduced by the
low price of their printers, now desperate to use them in the only
affordable way possible: by buying aftermarket ink. They had told the
doctor that the cost of gasoline was a blessing compared to what they
had to pay for authentic printer-brand ink. If only they could afford to
fill their printers with gasoline! Perhaps that was what was in the ink
cartridges they had bought. The doctor wrote me a prescription for
genuine Hewlett-Packard cartridges, but I don't think that my health
insurance will cover them.

My face is a hideous mixture of scabs and colored blotches. My scalp is
just an awful mess of patches of burned hair and ink splotches. Despite
the antibiotics injection that the doctor gave me, my wounds are still
oozing residues of the foul mixture. I look like the customer of a
crazed, drunken tattooist.

I urge your support of house measure HR-2957, The Universal Help America
Print Act, which will fund a program for the elderly, the poor, and the
disabled, to buy original ink for their inkjet printers. No aftermarket
ink will be allowed. This program is modeled after the hugely-popular
Medicare Part D, so generously sponsored by the pharmaceutical industry.
If passed, tax revenues will be allocated to help buy genuine ink for
the disadvantaged, who will contribute a fair co-payment of $49.95 per
ink cartridge regardless of ink quantity. Private companies will
administer the program. Individuals will be allowed to select an
administrator, after reading 30 pages of close-spaced contract terms.
The Government, too, will be one of the ink providers. However, the
Government will be prohibited from negotiating for the best purchase
terms (one of the program's most beloved features). It is expected for
this measure, so generously supported and written by the printer
industry association and their K Street lobbyists, to enjoy the same
universal appreciation and acclaim with which Medicare Part D has been
showered. This Act is just as easy for the beneficiaries to understand.

Don't wind up like me, or worse: you could become the only resident of
the morgue who looks like he'd been killed by a graffiti artist.

Only buy genuine ink from your printer manufacturer, no matter how
expensive. Original ink is precious, the elixir of true life and faith
of your printer. It is worth it to be charged more than Chanel No. 5 for
a tiny amount of ink, to be ensured that you'll never wind up like me.
Learn to take pleasure in your personal contribution to Carly Fiorina's
severance package. Smile at the thought that you are back-subsidizing
the acquisition of Compaq with every ink purchase of genuine HP ink.
Smile when you pay $2.50 per minute for product support and a man with
an Indian accent says, "Thank you for calling Hewlett-Packard; my name
is Bubba." Your purchases will also help fund future mergers and
acquisitions, combinations that our Great Leaders of Industry always
tell us leads to better competition, just like we've now got in the oil
industry. Smile when you hand over $65 for 80 CCs of ink. Smile as you
count your pennies left over; feel gratitude after reading your own
foreclosure notice at helping HP's new CEO with the down payment on his
sixth mansion. Feel the tears of gratitude running down your cheeks.

But also, hear my message of fear, my stern warning. When people see me,
they cross the street. Women hide their children in their skirts when
they spy my face. Some day, a horror movie will be made about me and my
printer. This would never have happened to me if I had only bought
genuine HP ink. I am wretched. I appealed for Salvation to The Reverend
T. Beauregard Clampett, but he turned me away. Whatever will I do? I
hate myself. Don't let this happen to you. Heed my warning!

An Inkjet Sinner and his Brother
 
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B

Branwynn Slayne

April Fool's was in April. The fictitious event you painted so colorfully
about the printer exploding after the installation of a refilled
cartridge physically cannot occur. But you show promise as a writer. Don't
quit your day job. Stick to the less explosive Brother typewriter while you
recover from this hoax.
 
B

BD

the elixir of true life

I love it.

I bet this is Milquetoast, putting on his best writing.

If not, then let's see it. Take a photo of yourself, remove everything
from your eyebrows to your lips so as to not really risk showing your
identity, and show us the scars.

How about a photo of the printer, showing evidence of the explosion?

In short - great story, but complete and utter shash.
 
B

BD

foul-smelling steaming swill

The more I read this, the better I like it - 'still steaming' ink
coming out of sores on his face. ;-)

I watched a Mythbusters once, where they were testing the 'Exploding
Jawbreaker' myth. They had a _very_ hot jawbreaker in a little
jaw-shaped vice, and were trying to determine if it could explode -
turns out, it could - under the right conditions. Inner layers of the
candy had melted, and the vice caused the outer shell to shatter,
spraying liquid sugar across the room - including onto the face of one
of the staff.

HOWEVER. It cooled the instant it hit her, and though it hurt, and
although she had a wee red mark and was shaken up a bit, nothing was
still 'steaming'.

Reality - what a concept.
 
M

milou

On Wed, 05 Jul 2006 15:43:49 -0700, Richard Steinfeld

I had to go to the emergency room. My face was bruised and blotched with
four colors. My injuries rapidly became infected, swelling up with
subcutaneous pus and ink.

Unless you are a very spotty teenager with acne and severe impetigo,
pus does not appear just as you describe.
Check your medical facts before you post your next hoax.
 
E

Edwin Pawlowski

milou said:
Unless you are a very spotty teenager with acne and severe impetigo,
pus does not appear just as you describe.
Check your medical facts before you post your next hoax.

Who cares?

It is humor, not a medical drama. Sheese, lighten up
 
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I

Ian

Richard said:
It is my burden to share an awful experience with you, my pain and my
suffering.

I bought refilled Hewlett-Packard cartridges for my printer. I am
ashamed to say that the seller would not tell me whose ink is in the
cartridges, but I threw caution to the wind and bought them anyway,
seduced by a price that I could actually afford and the promises of
complete compatibility and excellent results. I also bought cartridges
for my brother's printer. I mean, the cost of the printer manufacturer's
supplies would put me in the poorhouse, right? It's either my brother's
life-saving medications or printing. We're already buying his drugs in
Mexico just to pay for our gasoline just to get back and forth from his
many doctor visits. It came down to either aftermarket ink, applying for
charity, or just not printing at all. What else could I do?

I installed the refilled cartridges in my machine and then put a pair in
my brother's. I then sent a print job to my printer. In less than a
minute, the printer began to make an unusual squealing sound which
quickly became a loud, angry screech. I smelled a hint of smoke. I went
to the printer to see why it was making the noise, peering closely
through the paper exit at the print heads. Just then, the printer
exploded, assaulting my face with hot ink and shrapnel. I'm lucky that I
can still see!

I had to go to the emergency room. My face was bruised and blotched with
four colors. My injuries rapidly became infected, swelling up with
subcutaneous pus and ink. As I entered the emergency department, people
looked at me with a mixture of disgust and horror, moving away. One
woman made the sign of the cross; another attempted to protect herself
from me with her crucifix. Some of my hair was burned off by the
explosion, and I have blisters on my scalp.

But I was not able to immediately tend to my wounds. Just after my
printer exploded, my brother screamed and I heard a muffled roar. His
printer was half way through one of his most cherished photos: a picture
of former FBI director J. Edgar Hoover in high heels and a dress as
Tolson looks on admiringly (you can just make out Roy Cohn in the
background), when his printer, too, exploded in a blast of ink and
parts. Fire and smoke poured from his computer, caused by the printer's
outraged feedback through his universal serial bus cable. Not being so
close to his machine, he was spared the same injuries with which I am
now so desperately afflicted. His only regrets are for his ink-spattered
walls and papers, and himself -- now without a printer or a computer.
Luckily, a shower and soap took care of his skin, although for a while
there, I was worried about him: he looked like he'd been
paintball-hunting with Dick Cheney. Sadly, his collection of Hoover
photos has been ruined forever.

After a six hour wait, the doctor treated me. He lanced my abscesses,
which released a foul-smelling steaming swill of hot pus and ink all
over the examining table, the floor, and the doctor's clothing. The
doctor turned his face away in disgust at the smell. An orderly came by
with a mop to clean it up. The doctor told me that I was his third case
this week with injuries caused by patients who had been seduced by the
low price of their printers, now desperate to use them in the only
affordable way possible: by buying aftermarket ink. They had told the
doctor that the cost of gasoline was a blessing compared to what they
had to pay for authentic printer-brand ink. If only they could afford to
fill their printers with gasoline! Perhaps that was what was in the ink
cartridges they had bought. The doctor wrote me a prescription for
genuine Hewlett-Packard cartridges, but I don't think that my health
insurance will cover them.

My face is a hideous mixture of scabs and colored blotches. My scalp is
just an awful mess of patches of burned hair and ink splotches. Despite
the antibiotics injection that the doctor gave me, my wounds are still
oozing residues of the foul mixture. I look like the customer of a
crazed, drunken tattooist.

I urge your support of house measure HR-2957, The Universal Help America
Print Act, which will fund a program for the elderly, the poor, and the
disabled, to buy original ink for their inkjet printers. No aftermarket
ink will be allowed. This program is modeled after the hugely-popular
Medicare Part D, so generously sponsored by the pharmaceutical industry.
If passed, tax revenues will be allocated to help buy genuine ink for
the disadvantaged, who will contribute a fair co-payment of $49.95 per
ink cartridge regardless of ink quantity. Private companies will
administer the program. Individuals will be allowed to select an
administrator, after reading 30 pages of close-spaced contract terms.
The Government, too, will be one of the ink providers. However, the
Government will be prohibited from negotiating for the best purchase
terms (one of the program's most beloved features). It is expected for
this measure, so generously supported and written by the printer
industry association and their K Street lobbyists, to enjoy the same
universal appreciation and acclaim with which Medicare Part D has been
showered. This Act is just as easy for the beneficiaries to understand.

Don't wind up like me, or worse: you could become the only resident of
the morgue who looks like he'd been killed by a graffiti artist.

Only buy genuine ink from your printer manufacturer, no matter how
expensive. Original ink is precious, the elixir of true life and faith
of your printer. It is worth it to be charged more than Chanel No. 5 for
a tiny amount of ink, to be ensured that you'll never wind up like me.
Learn to take pleasure in your personal contribution to Carly Fiorina's
severance package. Smile at the thought that you are back-subsidizing
the acquisition of Compaq with every ink purchase of genuine HP ink.
Smile when you pay $2.50 per minute for product support and a man with
an Indian accent says, "Thank you for calling Hewlett-Packard; my name
is Bubba." Your purchases will also help fund future mergers and
acquisitions, combinations that our Great Leaders of Industry always
tell us leads to better competition, just like we've now got in the oil
industry. Smile when you hand over $65 for 80 CCs of ink. Smile as you
count your pennies left over; feel gratitude after reading your own
foreclosure notice at helping HP's new CEO with the down payment on his
sixth mansion. Feel the tears of gratitude running down your cheeks.

But also, hear my message of fear, my stern warning. When people see me,
they cross the street. Women hide their children in their skirts when
they spy my face. Some day, a horror movie will be made about me and my
printer. This would never have happened to me if I had only bought
genuine HP ink. I am wretched. I appealed for Salvation to The Reverend
T. Beauregard Clampett, but he turned me away. Whatever will I do? I
hate myself. Don't let this happen to you. Heed my warning!

An Inkjet Sinner and his Brother

WOW!!! And I thought I was alone.
 
I

Ian

Saul said:
Hey; you also got steaming pus and ink?

Saul

Well yes...but I can't see it without a mirror.

Unfortunetly for me the lid blew off my printer before it blew up. When
I picked up the lid my house coat popped up exposing my bare a**. Well
let's just say that generic ink is a real pain in the a** for me.
 
I

Ian

milou said:
Unless you are a very spotty teenager with acne and severe impetigo,
pus does not appear just as you describe.
Check your medical facts before you post your next hoax.

I've seen him. Before the accident he was a hideous teen, very spotty
with acne and severe impetigo.
 
R

Richard Steinfeld

Ian said:
I've seen him. Before the accident he was a hideous teen, very spotty
with acne and severe impetigo.

Perhaps you can offer him a kindness -- a facial makeover using
aftermarket inks.

What's "impetigo?"

Richard
 
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G

George E. Cawthon

Richard said:
Perhaps you can offer him a kindness -- a facial makeover using
aftermarket inks.

What's "impetigo?"

Richard

Hmm? Don't have a dictionary?
 
R

Richard Steinfeld

George said:
Hmm? Don't have a dictionary?

Well, you know, George. I mean, considering; it's fulla ink; black ink,
dude! I can't read anything in it. I used to use it a lot because I'm so
vocubularily challenged. There were always words that I could never find
in it. Like, do you spell it "Dubya" or "Dubbya." I like it better with
two "Bs" because it seems twice as stupid that way. Do you agree?

And I'm still recovering from my near-death experience, you know. I
inhaled some ink, too. It was just awful, I tell you. It's a wonder that
I can still type.

Richard
 
R

Richard Steinfeld

This must be measekite...especially since he has made NO comments!

I did not share my pain in order to be ridiculed. Deep in the despair of
my suffering, you accuse me of being that accursed troll, a man who
mis-punctuates just to provoke irritation. I do not do this.

I am still covered in ink. I look like the victim of a tatooist who had
a fit of anger. And now, I can't even print.

Why do you torment me so, you sadist?
 
B

BD

I am still covered in ink. I look like the victim of a tatooist who had
a fit of anger. And now, I can't even print.

PICTURES, DAMMIT! WE WANT PICTURES!!

*WE* *WANT* *PICTURES!*
*WE* *WANT* *PICTURES!*

Come on, everybody! *WE* *WANT* *pict....*

Ah, fine.
 
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I

Ian

BD said:
PICTURES, DAMMIT! WE WANT PICTURES!!

*WE* *WANT* *PICTURES!*
*WE* *WANT* *PICTURES!*

Come on, everybody! *WE* *WANT* *pict....*

Ah, fine.

I'll give you some pictures....LOL
 
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R

Richard Steinfeld

Ian said:
I'll give you some pictures....LOL

I would really like to accommodate you, BD. But, you see, I can't take
any more pictures -- there's ink spattered all over my camera, and ink
got inside it; it doesn't work any more. I suggest that you take Ian up
on his offer instead.

I appreciate your request. I appreciate the good wishes of everyone who
has responded to my message of suffering. I must now tend to my brother.
Despite my pain and the need to wash my wounds and frequently change my
dressings, I must tend to the needs of my poor brother. Not only is he
now without his printer and computer, but his prized collection of J.
Edgar Hoover photographs has been ruined forever. He is despondent, and
I must comfort him often. Tending to him is very difficult, for I am
still removing pieces of printer shrapnel, and I'm still afflicted with
a steaming mixture of hot pus and ink.

If any of you have photos of J. Edgar Hoover, especially ones of him in
his dress and high-heeled shoes, it would mean so much to my brother if
you would send your photographs to him. I thank you.

If I had only spent the lots and lots of money, had I dug deep, deep
into my pockets for original manufacturer ink, none of this misfortune
would have happened. Please pray for us.

A Sinner and His Brother
 

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