Hey Guess What?!?!

Hey everyone!! Look at me! I have a new pet peeve!

I am usually an accommodating person, friendly to the poor and rich alike. Sometimes I visit the sick when I am sick and show them that I can get sick just like them! I like birds and trees and baby seals. My thirst for understanding the world around me can never be sated!

But I sure as shit cannot understand why the hell someone would ever set the timer on the microwave oven and then decide that the food needs to be taken out with 17 seconds left, and then subsequently leave those 17 seconds on the clock never to reach the end.

And so when I walk into the kitchen and discover this travesty an urge surges from my loins, careens to my shoulder, sends signals to my arm and jerks my hand to life. Reaching forth in the darkness I press the STOP/CLEAR button and I feel complete.

For the first time in my life I feel I have done what I was put here to do. The hour takes its proper place telling me it’s 2:47 a.m. and now I can rest comfortable in the knowledge that I have made a difference.

I woke up last night and cleared the clock when I went to get a drink of water. I tried to imagine a situation where I would set the microwave timer and prance about in anticipation. My need to feed reaching the point of no return and when the microwave oven reaches eight seconds I scream. I can wait no more! Dear lord in heaven daddy needs to eat now!!

I’m not sure why this bugs me, these numbers left on the microwave. Tonight there were 51 seconds which is ridiculous. How can you over-estimate your timing to the tune of almost one full minute? I’m not sure who is responsible for this constant proverbial microwave oven cock tease. I think it’s one of my roommates who occasionally gets up late at night on a school night to make food with a blender.

“Oh sorry, did I wake you?!?!” she asks at 2:14 a.m.

Actually, I’m not completely beholden to the idea that the microwave oven must be zeroed out, but I try to look at the situation from the microwave oven’s perspective. It must be like almost reaching that point, almost there, almost… and then… boof. Sorry done, time to eat. And you sit there staring across the kitchen at the blender, at the Formica counter tops, at the dirty sponge…

So that’s where I come in and distribute dispensation and my microwave oven is happy and so am I.

(Ed. Note) It’s been kind of slow here in New Mexico if you couldn’t tell by the last couple topics. I have a lot of exciting things to write up, but have been slacking, so for now you get this crap and the other crappy entry of work shorts. Blessed evening to you all.


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