Darth Basement

Friends:

I am not in a good place. I have crossed over to the dark side. The way before me is in shadows. My eyesight is dimmed by a shroud of paperless statements, efile-taxes, and 68yr-old-home improvements. Mr. Bill Statement gets his mail at my house.

Yea thou I walk through the valley of the shadow of my basement,
I will fear no plumber,
For credit art with me,
My discover and my visa they comfort me,
They preparest a bankruptcy before me in the presence of my contractor,
My drains runneth over.

Surely root clogs and electrical shorts will not plague me all the days of my life,
And I won't dwell in the poorhouse for ever, and ever.

Amen.

Had you come calling last night at 12:30AM you'd have found my basement ankle deep in a substance that can only be described as "not at all unlike chili."

Had you come calling last night at 1AM you'd have found me ankle deep in a substance that can only be described as "two gallons of $35-per-can paint" (surrounded by a substance not at all unlike chili).

I don't know how I did it, but between roto-rootering around and frantically moving hunting paraphrenalia - I found time in my busy 12AM-2AM Thursday night schedule to explode two brand-new, full, gallon paint cans all over creation. If you lit a match in my dining room the paint thinner fumes boiling up out of the vents would blow my house to the moon.

I don't know if Big Shane Biggs, Roto-Rooter Professional, has ever had a full-grown man hug him and sob openly before, but he handled it well for 8AM.

To quote everyone's favorite movie*** "AAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!! HELP MEEE!!!! WHAT AM I DOING HERE?"

Just thought I'd include you, my friends, in what has been the least enjoyable experience of my young life.

JGE

*** The Notebook, of course. What, you didn’t love it?