Mime-Version: 1.0 (NeXT Mail 3.3 v118.2)
From: Peter Langston <psl>
Date: Mon, 12 Aug 96 14:27:41 -0700
Subject: The Motorwash
[A little something for BOFH fans... -psl]
Forwarded-by: Keith Bostic <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Forwarded-by: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
It's getting late and I can't get the washing machine started, and all the
time it's getting darker and darker and I realise that if I don't get this
thing started I'm never going to get home in time for Melrose Place, and if
that happens I'll never know what the hell the blonde woman with the short
hair whose name I don't know is wearing. And my flatmates will laugh at me
too for trading in my old car on a washing machine, but they don't think of
the fuel economy, and besides, by the time I get to work my clothes are all
sparkling white, which is a bit of a bummer considering they were blue when
I left, but what the hell you can't have everything and sometimes even
nothing is coming out ahead. Eventually I hot-wire the spin cycle and I'm
off on the way home. I get pulled over on the motorway by this cycle cop
who doesn't want anything except to swap washing machine stories. What the
hell, I pop the lid and show him the agitator and he makes approving noises.
"Two speed 1/4 turn. I used to have one of these babies myself. What it
is, a single phase Simpson?" he asks.
"Well, it was a single phase but I bored it out to three and got a really
long extension lead so I can take it camping.."
"What sort of economy do you get?"
"Well, lets see. I haven't taken measurements since I bored her, but I
guess that I'd get a couple of loads to a cup of detergent."
>Pheeee-ew< he whistles appreciatively, which is no less than I expected.
"What's one of these things worth?" he asks.
"Well let's see. Original model, no mods probably six rolls of lead
shielding and a platinum album. Fully reworked model you're looking at
about a map of brazilian coffee plantations, a six-pack of industrial
strength sausages, Yoko Ono on a stick, and a 4 gig soft-disk."
"That's quite a lot!" the cop utters.
"Damn right, that's why it's best to do the upgrades yourself. Why, the
wringer-job alone would cost you a couple of plates of Cauliflower Shred and
a bag of Unix manuals!"
"The very same."
"4 1 3 if you've got it, maybe solaris 2.1 depending on the revision. Stick
to 4.1.3 and you can't go wrong tho."
We part and I kick start the agitator and power off down the motorway. I
spot a twin-tub heading the other way with smoke pouring out the drain-pipe,
but before I can flag the driver down, it blows a ring seal and spins off
into the hard shoulder in flames. Bummer. That's the problem with those
things -- no load balancing.
I get home and Melrose place is half over and I know the flatmates will be
sniggering away to themselves like they always do -- they just don't
recognise a good deal when they see it. I roll on up the driveway, and
wouldn't you know it, some bastards taken my park and powerpoint!! There's
a chopped down Whiteway in *MY* *PARK*. I slip round the back of the house
and drop the machine into the shed, and go back to my park. I grab a bottle
of draino and pour it into the Whiteway, and kick the pump switch in and
block up the drain hose. That'll teach them a lesson.
I go inside
Copyright (c) Simon Travaglia <email@example.com>
© 1996 Peter Langston