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A death in the family
By briantologist | July 28, 2004
I’m afraid we’ve had a minor household tragedy.
Try and follow me here. So I’m sitting here in front of the computer thinking about god knows what, and it occurs to me that I could very much use a drink. Need scotch; need soda; need lime. Got all three. Great. Go to the kitchen, get half-empty bottle of Club Soda out of the fridge, try it, and it’s flat. Dump remnants down the sink. Suddenly assailed by hated fruit flies, apparently hiding in garbage disposal (“SINKMASTER”), which is apparently source of mysterious rotty smell I’ve been noticing lately (Stinkmaster).
We-he-he-hell. Nothing a quick spin o’ the Sinkmaster won’t cure. Turn on water, flick switch, and there’s this weird “tick-a-tick-a-tick” like something hard is banging around in disposal. Hmm. Let’s investigate. Remove rubber sink/disposal liaison thingy, and OH DEAR SWEET JESUS WHAT IS THAT AWFUL BROWN SHIT ALL OVER THE BOTTOM OH GOD ALMIGHTY I TOUCHED IT FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.
Okay. Initial revulsion has passed; sinking knowledge that I’m going to have to do something about this creeping up around the edges. Horrible rotten brown former food matter is everywhere, not just on the rubber ambassador � zounds, there’s a two-inch ring of it inside the drain. Eeeeeuuuuuuuuccchhhhhhhh. Thank heavens for the two-sponge system (one for the counters, one for the dishes, and for the love of god NEVER the twain shall be confused). Pouring on the cleaner with bleach, scrubbing crap off, shit there’s a lot of it. Scrubbing for too long, but at long last it’s mostly clean. Jesus that’s gross.
Oh hey, the mysterious object! The reason I started sniffing around down there to begin with! Time to fish that fucker out, but first better unplug the Sinkmaster. Now that my entire upper body is under the sink, I have successfully determined that it is impossible to unplug the Sinkmaster, as it is hard-wired, no plug-in, and besides, seriously, the Sinkmaster learned its lesson from HAL. It won’t be singing “Daisy” today. “Yummy Yummy Yummy I’ve Got Love In My Tummy,” maybe.
Fuck. Time for a leap of faith. Locate knowledge that Sinkmaster technically possesses no actual artificial intelligence, and would have no good reason to want to chew my hand to a bone-splintery pulp even if it did. Place said knowledge in forebrain while pushing down every instinctual non-garbage-disposal-reaching urge in body; proceed.
Looking first, before reaching, confirming that Sinkmaster is not currently chewing everything in it. Seeing foreign object might help in removing it.
Hey! What’s that?
Oh god … oh god no …
Dear sweet Jesus. Somehow, by some awful fluke, the tiny Admiral Ackbar figurine that came with a miniature B-Wing fighter I bought years ago wound up in the unforgiving jaws of the Sinkmaster, the smelly void that became Ackbar’s personal Sarlaac Pit.
He led the Rebel fleet to victory, he designed and built the goddamn B-Wing, perhaps the most weirdly badass craft in the early Star Wars universe, and during the Battle of Endor he waved his finny arms until he was blue in the face, only to meet his end in our stinking-ass garbage disposal. This, friends, is no fitting end for such a distinguished fish-man. But such is this mortal coil, capriciously flinging us to whatever random end serves its fancy.
Take a moment of silence for Admiral Ackbar tonight. It seems impossible that someone three-quarters of an inch high might be decapitated by anything, but indeed, I recovered his tiny body, its pedestal still attached, and his head, no larger than a dewdrop on a blade of grass, separately. He’ll be lying in state in our back room beneath a tiny Rebel flag until further notice.
Topics: Baffled Mutterings | 17 Comments »
July 28th, 2004 at 7:16 pm
Gah! The one time he should have known “It’s a Trap!”
July 28th, 2004 at 8:42 pm
Damn I haven’t laughed this hard in AGES!!! What a grisly discovery. Why couldn’t it be Boba Fett?
July 28th, 2004 at 8:47 pm
Damn, maybe *that’s* why the garbage disposal in our last apartment didn’t work. I dumped bleach down it to get rid of the stench, but I never thought to check it for Star Wars figurines!
*sniff* A moment of silence for poor Admiral Ackbar. He may have designed the B-Wing, but he couldn’t stay the hell out of your Sinkmaster. Or maybe the B-Wing had already been ground up and he was trying to formulate an esape plan.
July 28th, 2004 at 9:12 pm
My condolences, dear Brian… though I must admit that my sympathy is tinged with suspicion.
I hear you professing your love for Admiral Ackbar (& really, who doesn’t love him), but I’ve witnessed the way that you treat your “beloved” action figures. I remember a pre-teen Brian hovering gleefully above Snake Eyes and Destro, focusing our yellow sun’s beams with deadly accuracy. “Chernobylizing” them, to use your sadistic vernacular. I know where you used to place your ladyfingers and black cats… in orifices they were never meant to inhabit.
Speak your elegy, my friend. But know this… I have glimpsed the depths of your black, black heart. I suspect that Admiral Ackbar, having witnessed the horrific slaughter of his plastic companions, chose to end his life honorably and in the warrior tradition.
July 28th, 2004 at 11:15 pm
Okay, look, I admit to some youthful misdeeds against the action figure people. But Ackbar was never one of the persecuted, and I maintain that I never really felt good about it. Not about burning things with the magnifying glass; that was awesome. But part of me felt bad for going after the figurines.
Except perhaps Tomax and Xamot. They had it coming, the rich bitches.
July 29th, 2004 at 12:20 am
We win so few battles. Excuse me if I depart from all the Akbar eulogizing (Alas, poor Steve, I knew him well), but I shall not slumber this night, no…not till I tell the tale; the tale of our victory. Even as I press these keys, news of our victory travels quickly by messengers on foot, horse, and skateboard (this is, after all SoCal). Tell our brothers and precious sisters at arms that once again, happiness has come to our scorched land. A mere 45 minutes ago, as I waddled down the immaculately swabbed linoleum of my neighborhood Ralph’s, I found myself screaming, “HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” There, amongst the low carb/no carb confections, I spied the fruits of our long fought battle; a box of Jello Pudding Pops! I ate 6 in the store before being forced to buy the box. I ate two more as I told my wife about it all. She was a little peeved that I had to leave the milk for our daughter’s cereal at the store (money is tight), but alas…a few moments in the cool embrace of Jello Pudding Pops will mean a whole lot more than a nutritious and well balanced breakfast.
After a decade, Jello Pudding Pops have been resurrected. Rejoice my brothers and sisters! Spread the news in as many languages as you have tongue for! Our redemption is nigh!
July 29th, 2004 at 7:19 am
He should’ve had an R2 unit come up with a better map of the Sinkmaster’s defense mechanism.
July 29th, 2004 at 9:45 am
seriously… how did i get there?
July 29th, 2004 at 11:37 am
I’m still so impressed that you were able to stick your hand down the disposal that I can’t even begin to think about poor Ackbar. How the fuck did you do that?!
July 29th, 2004 at 12:04 pm
It’s actually kind of weird; as I was preparing to stick my arm down there, I flicked the disposal on and off a couple of times with the rubber cover thingy off. When I stood back up again, the Admiral’s body had flown out on its own volition and was lying quietly in the sink. I had to pick out his head by hand.
Seriously though, I have no fucking idea how he got down there. I try not to blame everything on the cats, but I kind of seriously think it must have been one of them. Pudding pops fucking rule.
July 29th, 2004 at 12:58 pm
Not nearly enough attention has been paid to this pudding pops discovery!
July 29th, 2004 at 1:20 pm
Word up on the pudding pops discovery. I’m seeing a whole new add campaing with Doug E. Doug (or Fresh, whichever you prefer) and none other than Mr. Cosby himself. The puddin pops are fantastic as we would all agree, but the ad campaign is what I remember the most. Maybe thay says more about me as a person and not the ad wizards who came up with that one.
Hopefully this pudding pop revelation will hit Oklahoma soon, or 3-4 months, which is usually the amount of time it takes for something to get from either coast to the heartland.
And Brian….. atleast it wasn’t Storm Shadow or something like that.
July 29th, 2004 at 5:35 pm
Seriously, the rest of this post was awesome and funny, but when you put your hand down the sink, I thought, “Wow, Brianbyrne is a real life grown-up!”
When did we leave the world of Drunken Nintendo In Lieu of 1700s Travel-Writing and enter the world of Fixing Disposals and Paying Off Loans?
Just kidding: I’m not paying off my loans. Ask Sallie Mae!
July 29th, 2004 at 7:16 pm
I tend to skim around when I read comments sections sometimes, so it was with bewilderment that I read this paragraph :Seriously though, I have no fucking idea how he got down there. I try not to blame everything on the cats, but I kind of seriously think it must have been one of them. Pudding pops fucking rule.Since I don’t make it to Tulsa much, for a brief moment there I thought the newest slang trend was to punctuate sentences with “pudding pops fucking rule”.
And they do.
July 30th, 2004 at 1:26 pm
I was right there with you, greg.
July 30th, 2004 at 3:25 pm
Just found you, and you’re great! Thought I’d let you know…
July 30th, 2004 at 3:50 pm
Word. Welcome. Pudding pops fucking rule. Though Challenge Butter is a force to be reckoned with.