the shredder

I have a shredder. Doesn't every paranoid person worry about fruit flies, identity theft, and pink shirts?

I shredded some papers after paying a few bills today. Jack helped. I went upstairs to find out how the delicious dinner I smelled was progressing.

Then from the downstairs I heard, "grrrrrrrr," from the cutting head on my cheap shredder.

"What the heck did Jack shred?" I thought. I still don't know. Hopefully not something I needed.