Dear Printer


I am writing to you in regards to your recent lack of ink. I find it hard to believe that you thought that you could perform your basic function with out this fluid and thus find you guilty of high treason in the Realm Of 34A. You are also held on charges of knowing that my creative writing portfolio has to be in on Wednesday and making me walk into the city in the pouring rain just to by you an ink cartridge.

The punishment for failing to inform me of your lack of ink will be severe. You are here by sentenced to seven weeks hard labour, holding all of my English and Psychology module notes. Failure to fulfill this sentence will result in you being thrown out of the door, because my window does not open more than an inch and you’re to fat to fit through the gap.

Yours sincerely,

Miss E Mort

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