I was thinking today as I mopped the blood off my brow, I hate papercuts. It's one of those annoying pains that likes to bleed a lot, but gets you zero attention. For example, you are sitting at your desk at the office. You are going through papers when all of the sudden, a bastard form decides to explore the flesh of your index finger. Just as you quietly explore the depths of your vocabulary, the guy that sits next to you drops his computer on his foot causing a toe to fall off. Not only is your wound not cared for in the proper manner (with several very attractive models tending to your every need), but no one even notices you bleeding into a kleenex. When you try to mention it, Friend/Co-worker Frank (he will come up a lot in our future blogs) says, "Yow, but did you see [insert dumbass, attention hog co-worker with one less toe's name]'s foot?" Well no shit, you saw his foot, but does that really have anything to do with your paper cut? No. In fact, it has less to do with your paper cut then a dolphin with an eating disorder has to do with a plate with a picture of the child you were thinking of adopting, but then got too busy to call the agency back and then felt too bad to talk to the child again so you just left it, hoping they would forget about you. You're an ass. Read my last blog. Karma will get you.
In conclusion, Satan uses paper cuts to lure us into wells of self-loathing and doubt. I mean, who will love themselves if their hands are covered in paper cuts? Or worse yet, paper cut scars. I vote we never use paper again and put the Devil in his place: the forests of Manhattan.
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