So, the kitchen sink backed up yesterday. This seems to happen every year, almost around the same time. The days are getting shorter, the tomatoes are giving their last fruit, and the kitchen is filled with loose pipe and my furious obscenities as I snake out a year’s worth of…

Well, I’ve never known the technical term for what lives inside pipes. Mung is a better term for that combination of dirt and grease and oil that gets in your drivetrain. And it’s not’s exactly excrement (thank you God for making sure it’s the kitchen sink and not the toilet that backs up), though the color and smell are just as evil as night soil. No, it’s something alien, something wrong, something that should probably be studied by the Defence Department as a non-lethal weapon, because I’m pretty sure if someone started flinging bucketsful of pipe glop at me, I’d want to stop fighting just to bathe myself in Doctor Bronner’s with a vinegar chaser.

And, of course, I didn’t fix the problem. The kitchen smells like ass, my hands smell like ass, the tools smell like ass, and some guy with loose pants is going to make a couple hundred bucks tomorrow. I swear, I should’ve been a plumber.

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