Programmed Cell Death

Paul Ryan - Programmed Cell Death

who wept at the romance of the streets with their
pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the
bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned
with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded
by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty
incantations which in the yellow morning were
stanzas of gibberish

When you say “photocopying machine,” what do you mean?

Elf: During your tenure in the computer department at the Guild’s office, has the Guild’s office had photocopying machines?

Troll: Objection.

Elf: Any photocopying machine?

Barbarian: When you say “photocopying machine,” what do you mean?

Elf: Let me be — let me make sure I understand your question. You don’t have an understanding of what a photocopying machine is?

Barbarian: No. I want to make sure that I answer your question correctly.

Troll: Dave, I’ll object to the tone of the question. You make it sound like it’s unbelievable to you that he wouldn’t know what the definition of a photocopy machine is.

Elf: I didn’t ask him to define it. I asked him if he had any.

Barbarian: When you say “photocopying machine,” what do you mean?

Elf: Let me be clear. The term “photocopying machine” is so ambiguous that you can’t picture in your mind what a photocopying machine is in an office setting?

Barbarian: I just want to make sure I answer your question correctly.

Elf: Well, we’ll find out. If you can say yes or no, I can do follow-ups, but it seems — if you really don’t know in an office setting what a photocopying machine is, I’d like the Supreme Council to hear you say so.

Barbarian: I just want to make sure I answer your question correctly.

Troll: There’s different types of photocopiers, Dave.

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