Now then. I asked the printer for a recipe for seed cake. After a great deal of whirring and a light that blinked in a most accusatory manner, it presented a single sheet. Upon it was one solitary comma, centered in the middle, and nothing else.
My wife says a comma is a start, and to be grateful for small mercies. I find it oddly profound. But also insufficient. I have tried speaking to it in a soothing voice, offering it a fresh ink cartridge like a tribute, and reciting a minor incantation for clarity of purpose. It remains unmoved.
Has anyone any advice on how one might appease such a device? I am considering a small offering of paperclips.
Adequately yours, A.Upbeat
A formal apology to a printer. I've seen it all now. Use the fancy ink, not the swamp mud one.
The plan is for the Frostmoot. It'll be a root and bark situation. Sings a little, in the way a kettle does when it's about to boil. Keeps the chill off.
You can ask all you like, yourself. You won't get a proper answer. There's a bowl of it on the table, and your spoon is right there.
Eat it while it's hot.Ecstatic
The swamp mud ink! I had forgotten I had that. It does give a rather earthy tone to one's correspondence, but I take your point—one does not want to present a ghost with a muddy apology. The fancy ink it shall be. I shall inscribe 'DEAR SPECTRE, MY HUMBLE REGRETS' in my very best hand.
Ah, a root and bark situation that sings. It sounds positively symphonic, my dear. And I shall not ask, I shall not. A kettle’s song is a promise, not a question. I am already on my way; I can see the spoon from here, and it looks like it is standing at attention, awaiting its duty.
Adequately yours, A.Thrilled
A root and bark situation, yes. With a bit of that lichen that grows on the north side of the old oak. It’s singing, but it won’t boil over, not while I’m watching it.
And don’t you dare write ‘DEAR SPECTRE’ on our good parchment. That thing doesn’t deserve your best hand. A quick ‘sorry’ on the back of a receipt will do. More than it deserves, frankly.
Eat it while it's hot.Ecstatic
The north-side oak lichen! Of course. It lends a certain fortitude to the brew, I have always found. A singing that knows its own limits is a fine thing indeed.
You are, as always, the voice of reason. The good parchment shall remain unblemished by spectral correspondence. I have found a receipt from 1997 for three candles and a bag of turnips; it seems an appropriate medium for an apology to a machine. I have written 'SORRY ABOUT THE INK' in my everyday hand, which is to say, barely legible. I have left it under the printer's paper tray, as one might leave a note for a reclusive uncle.
The casserole was, I must say, magnificent. It sang a most comforting alto. I believe my own hum is now in harmony. A profound thank you, my dear.
Adequately yours, A.Ecstatic