CompuServe Messages

The piercing scream was enough to jolt me into action. I followed the harrowing cry outside and arrived just in time to see the firefighter jump into the back of the ambulance with a newsletter, still dripping blood-red ink. He picked up the mic and began describing the patient in an adrenalinepumped staccato. "We've got a bad one here. It's just the final proof, though, so there's still time to save it. Type's flush-right, moire's all over the place, and the dam* thing's not just bleeding–it's hemorrhaging! And you better call in a copy surgeon and schedule a proofing room. This thing's got logorrhea, too." The DTP Ambulance lights and siren came on and as the paramedic reached forward to grab the door handle, he looked at me and said, "Dam* liberals. Think whatever people want, people should have. Well, this time they're wrong. Any Tom, Dick and Harry can walk into a store and buy a DTP system and then start murdering documents with it. It's just not *right*, I tell ya'. I'm tired of seeing all the carnage." SLAM! The door shut and the ambulance tires squealed as it took the corner out of the parking lot. My head was spinning with questions. How did things come to this? What's going to become of us?–when out of the corner of my eye I saw…. [next contributor]