I'm waiting on my tea right now. The two lower Urchins of the house, that of 3 and that of 5 years of age, are currently embattled. I woke on the couch to their rising cries from a swoon induced by a toxic cloud of cheese toast. Just once a week I'd like to be able to operate a tool, machine, or electric devise in my own home that does not need to be fixed, cleaned, oiled, gased, or stoked beforehand.
I put a slice of bread in the toaster oven. There was cheese on the top. Yes, I'd hoped to feed myself and the youngest cheese toast. Naive. Innocent. While it was heating I loaded firewood from outside. The three day heat wave of 40 degree weather is over and it's snowing. It's an ice rink out there too.
There was enough heat to melt half the snow, and what's left is hard and crusted.
The little guy helps me with wood, and this takes a little more time. I forgot the toast. I remembered quickly when I saw the smoke. Inside the kitchen a white noxious cloud of fried cheese was rising, poluting everything in it's wake. I inhaled deeply of course. Unplugging the machine and opening the bay door, I saw cheese on fire below the food. Left over from some happy toaster of the past, who could not be bothered to clean the stove afterwards. No see; no clean. A worthy philosophy for our new age. I see a generation out there on the freeway driving under a similar thought process.
What care I. Mine is to ingest toxins of all manner. I'm tough, a dish of medium to see what genes thrive under such conditions and which lead to Alzheimers. I opened both side doors to the snow storm and let the cloud out. I cut the toast in half and ate a portion. Not too bad...smoked. The younger ate his and did not seem to be in any distress.
Afterwards I fell onto the sofa and lay my head on the pillow, pulling a blanket over me against the high IQ shrieks of Jimmy Neutron on the Tube. This would not happen to him. His toaster oven can not only toast, but cleans itself and seconds as a ride to the moon when his space ship is out of commision.
The knife is here, it's beautifull, but it doesn't have a flat edge. Missed by only a .32". I'm going to bolt two straight edged boards on each side of the edge and grind away the slight rise of metal near the cho. I hope this will flush it out.
Bura and gang will have to know that it must meet the table flush to be able to slice veggies.
It weighs 2 lbs. For sheer chopping, that's not all bad, maybe all good, but I'm sure other of it's kind may dip down the scale as has the Bowie in the past.
I'll skip the review until I do something about the edge. The handle is neat. Horn. The spine is thick- this is the brute of old, and the fullers deep. It kind of looks like something you could pierce the side of a gangbanger's Chevy, harpoon a whale, or bust down a door with.
Tea time now. More later. Gotta drive out into the blizzard and grab the last kid from school.
I'm certain I reek of burned cheese. You know how animals can smell us a mile away? Well...
munk
I put a slice of bread in the toaster oven. There was cheese on the top. Yes, I'd hoped to feed myself and the youngest cheese toast. Naive. Innocent. While it was heating I loaded firewood from outside. The three day heat wave of 40 degree weather is over and it's snowing. It's an ice rink out there too.
There was enough heat to melt half the snow, and what's left is hard and crusted.
The little guy helps me with wood, and this takes a little more time. I forgot the toast. I remembered quickly when I saw the smoke. Inside the kitchen a white noxious cloud of fried cheese was rising, poluting everything in it's wake. I inhaled deeply of course. Unplugging the machine and opening the bay door, I saw cheese on fire below the food. Left over from some happy toaster of the past, who could not be bothered to clean the stove afterwards. No see; no clean. A worthy philosophy for our new age. I see a generation out there on the freeway driving under a similar thought process.
What care I. Mine is to ingest toxins of all manner. I'm tough, a dish of medium to see what genes thrive under such conditions and which lead to Alzheimers. I opened both side doors to the snow storm and let the cloud out. I cut the toast in half and ate a portion. Not too bad...smoked. The younger ate his and did not seem to be in any distress.
Afterwards I fell onto the sofa and lay my head on the pillow, pulling a blanket over me against the high IQ shrieks of Jimmy Neutron on the Tube. This would not happen to him. His toaster oven can not only toast, but cleans itself and seconds as a ride to the moon when his space ship is out of commision.
The knife is here, it's beautifull, but it doesn't have a flat edge. Missed by only a .32". I'm going to bolt two straight edged boards on each side of the edge and grind away the slight rise of metal near the cho. I hope this will flush it out.
Bura and gang will have to know that it must meet the table flush to be able to slice veggies.
It weighs 2 lbs. For sheer chopping, that's not all bad, maybe all good, but I'm sure other of it's kind may dip down the scale as has the Bowie in the past.
I'll skip the review until I do something about the edge. The handle is neat. Horn. The spine is thick- this is the brute of old, and the fullers deep. It kind of looks like something you could pierce the side of a gangbanger's Chevy, harpoon a whale, or bust down a door with.
Tea time now. More later. Gotta drive out into the blizzard and grab the last kid from school.
I'm certain I reek of burned cheese. You know how animals can smell us a mile away? Well...
munk
