the shred head strikes

It might be hard for many Europeans to swallow this, but it is true. Last evening, during a mad bout of winter cleaning, for the first time in my life, I used the shredder.

I’m a shredder virgin. Was, actually. Now I’m a shredder addict.

The raw power, the hunger, the instant attraction, a pressing gravitation. Then the snatching and ripping away of hundreds of bullet points and thousands of excel simulations. I was stunned. Speechless. Close your mouth, Arti; M. Poppins would’ve smacked at me. We are not a codfish.

But such was my unabashed response and desire. I need more. I definitely need more.

Like the industrial shredder with superior cutting torque. Indelible technology that annihilates CDs, DVDs, credit cards, floppy disks and metal springs into the nothingness. This arbitrary power is heady; shut up and pray, ‘cuz there is blood everywhere.

Not to be confused with the commercial chess program, I allude to the one that shreds. Invented originally by Abbot Low in New York, it was eventually the German Adolf Ehinger who made better use of a pasta machine and went ahead & shredded, successfully, his anti-Nazi propaganda. Notice how there exists romance behind this raw potency. From pasta machine to the despoiler of the Third Reich – a small step for nourriture, giant leap for a fancy-retro-thingamomb.

But I need to run now. There’s some official for my eyes only documents lying on my desk. And down the corridor, a 4 horsepower shredder with my name on it.