Meanwhile, forces unknowable conspired to bring the "blue" jet of Spotty's printer to an untimely and yet timeless end, in furtive gasps emitting ribbons of blue tint as a dying man coughs up his final, sanguine breath. He held up his document to the light, its once dignified brown fields reduced to a dainty pink with blue stripes. "Crom!" He ejaculated. "I remember this selfsame design in my tunic of old, that my mother gave me on the Feast of Mitras's Birth, 'fore I sent her wailing from my house!" Spotty the Coordinator: Curse of the Pastel Print Cartridge
Yup, still reading Conan, and my printer's dying. Again.