That sniveling wretch Mr Gaiman writes:
>>You aren't the first person to suggest I travel with a printer, and 13 or 14 years ago I used to (the printer back then weighed 4 lb. The power adapter for the printer weighed about 6lb. I could never figure that one out) but I believe, possibly wrongly, that nice hotels with business centres ought to have printers that work. And that even if they don't now, they will one day. It's this cheery optimism that gets me through life. <<
The Mad Arab also has a thing or two to say about printers: The problem with writing in blood is that it does not lend itself easily to mass production, and red ink printed in dripping font just doesn't cut it. In the good old days, the gibbering servants of the Elder Gods would gladly sacrifice themselves to produce a chapter of Unspeakable truths in the chronicles of the Great Beyond. Unholy Books were written upon a mound of corpses, and if you were lucky (or unfortunate) enough to have such a nightmarish tome fall into your possession, you knew that the book you clutched in your trembling hands was a carefully handcrafted, one-of-a-kind guide to the parameters of the Unreal.
But then that man Lovecraft started writing and suddenly everyone wants a Necromicon. Everyone! But are they willing to spill their heart's blood to create a mere page of suffering in honor of the Great Cthulhu?! No! So some Worthy types with an eye to spreading the Gurgling Words of the Elder Gods decide to *print* a few texts, not caring that this is heresy before the million bug-eyes of the Aldairth, not caring that a printed book is dead and cold to the secrets of the universe, that its secrets will stay fixed to a printed page and be unable to infect the passing glances of strangers with the murderous knowledge of Unreality!!!! WOE!!! WOE TO THE HALF-BAKED IGNORAMUSES WHO WORSHIP THE ELDER GODS WITH SUCH PALTRY EFFORTS!!!!! THEY TOO SHALL PERISH!!!
But the Mad Arab was going to talk about printers. Sorry about that.
The only thing printers are truly good for is communicating with the Elder Gods of the Internet. The matrix of cyber-reality formed by spam mail forms, in its own right, a transreal plane from which true Acolytes can communicate with the thinking viruses of Deep Time. While Deep Time Viruses will occasionally unfold their dread plans to a true observer, however, they are far more likely to invite you to "BE BIG NOW!" or watch "TEEN SLUTS DO HORSES!" because Deep Time Viruses are into that sort of thing. You can, if you want, sign up for email updates from Deep Time, or you can just wade into their randomness and press "print," which is the Mad Arab's preferred method.
Except printers are a bit of an annoyance when it comes to carting them through forbidden pyramids, and it's difficult to find an outlet in the shrieking jungles of Na'bair. So to get back to Mr. Gaiman's comment, this is why the Mad Arab prefers blood. Working printers can be hard to find, but corpses can be made just about anywhere.