DEATH MACHINE, INFEST MY CORPSE TO BE

Have you ever had to clean your way through a pile of dishes so nasty, that the entire time you’re working on them you find yourself fighting back not only your gag reflex and/or vomit – but tears?

THIS IS NOT EVEN CLOSE TO BEING A FAIR REPRESENTATION OF LAST NIGHT’S BATTLE.

Back story:

The Wife and I are very busy people. Like – we both have these things called “a job”, wherein people rely on us to do something in order for us to GET PAID. I know this is an alien concept to a lot of you knuckleheads, but after a long day of me surfing the space we call “cyber” hunting around for clues as to whateverthefuck happened to this man:

– I get good and tired, you know? And The Wife? She spends her day being a therapist with scissors, trimming/cutting and coloring the hair of all of the mentally unbalanced and emotionally decimated women who’ve moved to The City in hopes that Sex In The City was really a super-secret hidden beacon sent out just for them.

Basically – we ended up with a pile of dishes that made me feel as though this l’il fella was living in our sink:

YOU BET YOUR BIPPY I WAS SCARED.

Being the trooper that I am wont to be from time to time, I went into this battle prepared – Slayer’s REIGN IN BLOOD set to stun on the trusty I-Pod, a burning Marlboro Menthol Light dangling precariously from my lips.

(Although, in hindsight, I sure do wish I had me a pair o’ these on)

The first task was finding out why the sink itself seemed to be a breeding ground for little gnat-like things that were flying around my head. I tried to organize my assault by taking all of the silverware and putting them into a soap and hot water-filled glass (The Wife has been known to hide a shiv or two underneath a not-so-threatening looking bowl to see if my blood is actually red or not). I then took the skillet that was sitting on top of the stove, and scraped the remnants of a taco experiment into the trashcan*.

MMMM…MEATY GOODNESS.

After I’d set the SKILLET FROM HELL back on the stove top to soak (totally full of the hottest and soapiest water), I started to tackle the mound of “dishes” that were remaining in the sink. I started off small – can’t go too big from the start, or you’ll end up blowing out a wrist(See: EXHIBIT A) – I knocked out all of the little dishes and bowls. They were nothing more than a minor nuisance for me, as the larger dishes seemed to have some substance on them that had adhered itself so strongly that the aforementioned substance was impervious to my determined and Slayer-fueled dish washing skill set.

(EXHIBIT A)

Being the overall BAD MOTHERFUCKER that I is – that pile of evil dishes got knocked the fuck on out. It took me the better part of an hour, but I wasn’t going to give up until the job was done. Sweat running off of my semi-bald pate, I surveyed my now clean and less funky (Sorry, Zombie Bootsy) kitchen with pride – hell, I even scrubbed out the empty sink with some kind of scouring product that made my head all looseygoosey.

FINAL SCORE – SEAN 1, DISHES 0.

*Oddly – at the moment I was taking care of the SKILLET FROM HELL, Tom Araya was screaming about an EPIDEMIC in my inner ear. Lyrical Snippets For Your Amusement included the following:

Breeding fast in poverty
Infectious driving dormant seed
Inside your carcass start to mate
Left in charge to dominate
Waiting to unfold
Raging uncontrolled
Adapt a potency
Death machine, infest my corpse to be

Unyielding kings of agony
Test your body chemistry
Pulmonary overthrow
Possession of your inner throne
Invasions quickly override, malicious domineering strike
Flood your veins commit slow death
Deteriorate your makers met

Perpetual demise
On a fast decline
Killing tendency
Epidemic, permanent disease

Incapacitate, fall into your fate
Pain results in screams, bleed internally
Years will pass before it can be cured

Yeah, it was yet another one of those magical moments when the definition of kismet was not lost on me. But having that epiphany come from Slayer?

Priceless.

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Filed under "whatever happened to...", dirt creeps me the fuck on out, husbandly duties, laziness, rock and motherfucking roll, the wife

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