My entire career in the printing industry can be summed up with one goal. I don’t want to be one of those sad fucks who blows out their back. I’m not sure what all I did, but mine now feels like ass, my right hand tingles and my feet are go to sleep if I sit too long. It wasn’t in the course of battling the Daemon Lord of Print Spooling. No mere paper paper cut lay me down. A ream of 100# stuck in each hand is as nothing to me.
In my hubris, much like the Norse god Balder(sp?), where he was felled by humble mistletoe, I was vanquished by the Wif’s dirty laundry. This is not a metaphor.
Peter's stuff.