O you who make complex things simple
by transforming myriad pieces of sensitive information into one medium-
(information I am not reading, by the way)
O you who make simple things complex
by transforming whole, intact pages into millions of little pieces of confetti-
(confetti I must now pick up off my friend's basement floor)
You, whose pictorial warnings include
not shredding more than five sheets at a time,
avoiding putting your hand near the blades,
and also being cautious with your tie-
(that last diagram took me a minute to work out)
Why, o why, do you overheat every three minutes, requiring me to stop, unplug you, and empty the confetti into a garbage bag? Is there some sort of shredder union I should know about? Should I give up completely and just watch the tv show I'm currently trying to view in chunks between the three minutes in which you actually function?
Simplicity is apparently underrated. Shredders are not.
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