Truly, I don't expect a reply to my missive, but it felt wonderful to press send and know that some hack at Epson might not only read it, but pass it on. Just maybe, just maybe it reaches some overpaid puffed up suits desk and triggers a dried up old neuron and for just one second, the creepy suck feels a measure of shame, then seeks to remedy that. The problem is, the remedy is like a couple of fingers of Makers Mark and a visit to his mistress.
The HP is working great.