Post by Frank Black on Dec 2, 2005 14:42:26 GMT -5
Dear Vacuum:
My wife first observed you sucking up dirt and dust
with great power on an infomercial about six months
ago. She marveled at the way you transformed carpets
from vile to spotless in mere seconds. So she ordered
two of you with the fullest expectations that
vacuuming would no longer pose an onerous chore.
Today, my day off, I resolved to clean the house as a
favor to my wife and in preparation for company,
arriving tomorrow evening. You were instrumental to
my plans. With my intellect and your pure, mechanical
sucking might the lint bedeviling our carpets would
disappear as surely as day follows night. Alas, it
was not to be. You failed in your duty, your sole
duty on this earth. Try as I might, the lint lying on
our carpets did NOT disappear, but was merely pushed
elsewhere on the carpet. After several minutes of
futile efforts and rising anger, I sought to ascertain
the precise nature of your difficulties. Perhaps an
accumulation of grime within your storage compartment
was preventing you from discharging your function? So
I lovingly detached your storage compartment and
gently emptied the refuse into a trash bin, and then
softly reattached it so that we could resume our task.
Did this satisfy you? To my grave disappointment, it
did not. Although some suction was in fact taking
place, it was wholly inadequate and the lint was
merely pushed from one part of the room to the other.
I imagine that the lint probably enjoyed the
experience, having grown weary of inhabiting the same
patch of ground for several days. Throughout the
task, but particularly after this latest setback, the
rage within me that had begun as a dull glow had
become incandescent. And while the loud, vacuum-esque
noise you were making would seem to indicate work
being accomplished, you and I knew better. My gentle
words of encouragement had turned to profane shouts of
admonishment, to no effect. My final, admittedly
desparate ploy was to see if perhaps you might respond
to an act of violence. So I lifted you off the
ground, my previous good humor a distant memory, and
then, with extreme force laid you upon the very carpet
that you were charged with cleaning, snapping you in
two. I growled sharply before removing your energy
supply, gathering up your sad remains in my arms and
storming out of the house to deposit you in the
garbage, your final spot on the way to vacuum hell
where you belong. I have no misgivings about my
decision (my wife has yet to weigh in), but as you
wail and beg me for forgiveness from the netherworld,
I encourage you to reflect upon your life's function
and ponder whether you have any cause for complaint.
I wager that we both know the answer.
Yours,
Frank Black
P.S. Anyone know whether they get Georgetown Hoyas basketball games in Vacuum Hell?
My wife first observed you sucking up dirt and dust
with great power on an infomercial about six months
ago. She marveled at the way you transformed carpets
from vile to spotless in mere seconds. So she ordered
two of you with the fullest expectations that
vacuuming would no longer pose an onerous chore.
Today, my day off, I resolved to clean the house as a
favor to my wife and in preparation for company,
arriving tomorrow evening. You were instrumental to
my plans. With my intellect and your pure, mechanical
sucking might the lint bedeviling our carpets would
disappear as surely as day follows night. Alas, it
was not to be. You failed in your duty, your sole
duty on this earth. Try as I might, the lint lying on
our carpets did NOT disappear, but was merely pushed
elsewhere on the carpet. After several minutes of
futile efforts and rising anger, I sought to ascertain
the precise nature of your difficulties. Perhaps an
accumulation of grime within your storage compartment
was preventing you from discharging your function? So
I lovingly detached your storage compartment and
gently emptied the refuse into a trash bin, and then
softly reattached it so that we could resume our task.
Did this satisfy you? To my grave disappointment, it
did not. Although some suction was in fact taking
place, it was wholly inadequate and the lint was
merely pushed from one part of the room to the other.
I imagine that the lint probably enjoyed the
experience, having grown weary of inhabiting the same
patch of ground for several days. Throughout the
task, but particularly after this latest setback, the
rage within me that had begun as a dull glow had
become incandescent. And while the loud, vacuum-esque
noise you were making would seem to indicate work
being accomplished, you and I knew better. My gentle
words of encouragement had turned to profane shouts of
admonishment, to no effect. My final, admittedly
desparate ploy was to see if perhaps you might respond
to an act of violence. So I lifted you off the
ground, my previous good humor a distant memory, and
then, with extreme force laid you upon the very carpet
that you were charged with cleaning, snapping you in
two. I growled sharply before removing your energy
supply, gathering up your sad remains in my arms and
storming out of the house to deposit you in the
garbage, your final spot on the way to vacuum hell
where you belong. I have no misgivings about my
decision (my wife has yet to weigh in), but as you
wail and beg me for forgiveness from the netherworld,
I encourage you to reflect upon your life's function
and ponder whether you have any cause for complaint.
I wager that we both know the answer.
Yours,
Frank Black
P.S. Anyone know whether they get Georgetown Hoyas basketball games in Vacuum Hell?
