And I’m apparently on it.
I have an outdoor staircase that it attempting to murder not only myself, but two other people. So far. I have a gutter at the bottom of said stairwell that decided to add a little more pizazz to the falls and pour water in a huge geyser at the bottom of the stairs. You know, so you can get cleaned up from the fall that got you all dirty. I was electrocuted by the house last month. And my heat basically works when it feels like it.
But that isn’t the worst thing the house has done to me in the past month. No, it just got vicious and I want to shank the house right in an electrical socket and watch it burn to the ground. (But I won’t because then my fat kid self would have to get a new house and buy all new stuff with the insurance money that I had to pull out of the insurance company’s fist like a fat kid guarding a Twinkie. And I’d be tired from the fight and have no bed to sleep on unless I went to the store and walked around for years trying to replace all the stuff. I’d become a tent dweller. Or I’d live in my car with Lola.) But back to the worst thing the house has done to me to date.
My ice tastes like broccoli.
That’s right. The ice maker is making ice that tastes exactly like broccoli.
And there’s no broccoli in my freezer.
Sorry, I had to shank my keyboard to stop from shanking the house.
I decided that someone else had to share in my pain of the ice broccoli. I put a cube in Lola’s bowl since she loves ice.
She told me to go get f_ked and walked away without touching it.