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Pippa

Every Thursday, the Inhuman Resources Department shuffles in to remove the hated printer and replace it with one that is, in some unique and specific way, worse. The test page is a ritual of dread.

“It can’t be as bad,” says Pippa, “as the invisible ink cartridge.”

“Or the two-in-one, with the crosscut shredder–”

“It doesn’t print capital letters,” says Railyn, examining the results in slow horror.

“HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO MAKE MEETING TRANSCRIPTS?” frets GLARTH.

“What kind of idiots wouldn’t test that?” Railyn shrieks.

“Idiots? Please,” says Pippa. “Only a genius could only produce such fresh hells.”

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