Appliance Outage, Part II

Last night I purchased my new oven-range combo. My mom and dad floated me the cash for an “early” Xmas present and I blew it all at Sears. I would have rather spent the Xmas cash on lap dances and whiskey but I am grateful nonetheless. I am taking off work next Monday because Sears will deliver said appliances between 10am and 4pm (thanks for nailing down a time, jerks). When everything is installed and ready for use, I am going nuts right out of the shoot. I intend to simultaneously fry bacon, cook a pot of chili and make some scrambled eggs on the burners, throw a twenty five pound turkey and a Totino’s Party Pizza in the five cubic foot oven and make an industrial size batch of Top Ramen in the microwave.

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Appliance Outage

My oven and microwave died over the holiday weekend. It was the original appliance that came with my town home (circa 1983; an era renowned for flip-clock displays and record players). On Friday night, She Who Will Not Be Named and I rented a movie, made a few rum and Cokes and threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave. After attempting to cook the bag of popcorn for half an hour, I concluded that the microwave no longer worked. Last night, after my hockey game, I came home to grill a steak and attempted to make a baked potato in the oven. The oven door got stuck and would not open. Tonight I am heading over to Sears to purchase a new oven-range combo. It will be refreshing to have appliances with digital displays and timers that I do not have to wind.

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Daytime Vomit And Diarrhea

The past few days my intestinal tract has been ravaged by the flu and I have been confined to my town home. Today I was finally able to hold down chicken noodle soup and saltine crackers. I mostly rested and watched daytime television. Yesterday on Divorce Court, an older gentleman explained to Judge Ephriam why he needed to take Viagra to keep up with his young wife:

I usually come to the plate with a wooden bat. It is reliable and it hits the ball far. When I take Viagra, it is like upgrading to an aluminum bat, you can play the game longer and hit the ball further.

After he said that, I turned off the television and went to sleep.

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My Neighbor The Mental Giant

My neighbor moved in less than one week ago. I attempted to say hello to him and he ignored my friendly platitudes. In the early hours of this very morning, I decided my neighbor is stupid and I hate him. Around midnight, I had just finished watching American Pimp on HBO when I remembered it was trash day. I walked down the stairs and into my garage to put the trash cans out and I was smacked around like a trailer park wife with the pungent aroma of gasoline. My first thought was my car was leaking gas, so I checked underneath it. Nothing. I concluded that my stupid neighbor was huffing gas in his garage like a middle school kid in a deserted park. I didn’t think too much of it so I shut the garage and proceeded upstairs to bed. Within minutes the smell of gasoline was everywhere and strong enough to make me nauseous. In a rational and calm manner I proceeded to yell obscenities out the window. I noticed emergency lights outside on the street and next to a customized, rusted Ford Bronco a team of police and firemen were circled around it. Apparently, my stupid neighbor ruptured his gas tank with a screwdriver trying to change his oil and instead of finding a bucket or some empty liquid holding device to catch the falling fuel, he let the gas pour out all over his garage, started the vehicle quickly and drove it across the street leaking gas the entire way. He parked next to the gutter and let the gas leak into it the sewer and then walked back to inside and went to bed. In the end, he received a ticket, his piece of shit Bronco was towed away and my town home was awash in gasoline fumes until about 6:30 this morning. The stupid fucking bastard. I hope he trips on his front steps and the fall renders him immobile so I can walk by and repeatedly kick him in the face.

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