Date: Thu, 15 Jan 2004 17:28:26 -0500
Subject: Frozen Dirty Poker Night of the Apocalypse
Last week the pipe that delivers delicious hot water into the Danger
Kitchen froze. I tried to unfreeze it. I ran hot water all through
the nearby pipes. I held a hot iron up against the exposed part for
hours. I even syphoned boiling hot water into the pipe through the
faucet. Nothing worked. My housemates were convinced I was crazy,
that the pipe wasn’t frozen at all, and the reason no water came out of
the faucet when the hot water was turned all the way on had something
to do with “robot tentacles.”
Well, maybe they were right. Two days later the pipe exploded.
Luckily there were people nearby when it happened. Not close enough to
be seriously hurt by the shrapnel, mind you, just close enough to hear
the explosion, and a team of amateur plumbers was immediately dispensed
to the basement to shut every valve on every pipe. Had this not been
the case, we would have ended up like our next door neighbors, who also
had a pipe explode the very same day, but with no one around, or no one
left alive to do anything about it. Their house was spewing water like
a fetus that night.
For the next day we had no hot water at Dangerhaus.
Then a plumber came. He pulled the oven out of the wall and then left.
Now we had no hot water in the kitchen, and no oven to cook with. We
were left with only the microwave.
Then he went on vacation or something. We ran out of clean dishes
about three days ago. The glasses were gone by Monday.
Slowly, though, a dark and ugly transformation has been occurring.
People have started drinking out of red plastic cups. At first, it was
gin and tonics or good whisky out of red plastic cups. Then it was
Shmirnoff and tonic with no lime and old crow. Before any of us
realized what was happening we were drinking rum and cokes and watching
football on the television and talking about law school and eating
microwaved hot-pockets off of paper plates! When the plumber finally
returned, mere hours ago, he found us drinking wine coolers and
shmirnoff ice, our tee-shirts mysteriously stained with greek letters,
and our walls lined with empty cans of miller ice.
The plumber was horrified. And suddenly, he had the strength of ten
plumbers! We watched in amazement as he tore through copper pipe with
his bare hands and welded them back together with laser beam eyes. He
picked up our oven and shoved it back into the wall. He cleared all
the empty beer cans from the walls and smashed them into a giant ball
of aluminum which he then took outside and hurled into the open air.
None of us could see where it landed. Yes, yes indeed. Our plumber
was a robot.
Oh, to have let a plumber robot see us in such a state of degradation.
The dishwasher was immediately set into action. There is a chance, a
fair chance, my friends, that DangerHaus may be back to normal by the
time people start to arrive for
“first hand at nine”
featuring: Clean Glasses Ready to be filled with Gin*!
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Dangerhouse is XX XXXXXXXXX XX. #X in wretchedly cold Somerville MA.