How many appliances in your home would you truly say are "working properly?" Many of us have grown accustomed to the foibles of our crappy ovens, washing machines, and what have you. So much so that we probably go too long without replacing them. That's why the appliance industry has hired me, to come and convince you to get rid of your old shit and buy some new shit that breaks more often.
Without jinxing myself, let's talk about my clothes washing machine. It was in my place when I moved in, and I have never so much as cleaned out the filter. This thing makes a horrible noise whenever it spins up, and if you put too many clothes in it, they don't really get washed. Don't get to the clothes fast enough? Everything smells like mouldy ass. Still, if you keep those things in mind, it still accomplishes the job of washing my clothes, so I never wanted for an expensive new one.
Oh, also you need to be really careful to make sure the door is actually closed all the way, because it will start without that.
That's when the Home Appliance Manufacturers' Association got in touch with me, having heard that I have a moderately-popular column and own my own magazine, Bad Cars Monthly. In exchange for a new washing machine, all I would have to do is convince my readership to get rid of their 25-year-old dishwasher and buy something that can connect to the internet for some reason. They've got shareholders to pay, you see, and those shareholders don't want to see you struggling with a toaster that doesn't really toast bagels all that well the first time and burns them super bad the second time.
Anyway, I had the new washing machine for a week. Then it developed a crude form of sentience and started trying to compliment all of my clothes that I put inside. Being distrustful by nature, I didn't want a machine that spoke to me, much less tried to get all obsequious about my undergarments. I took the power drill out and ran it through the vague location where I thought the speaker would be, and would you believe it? Fucking thing stopped working. Even after I put some duct tape over the hole to keep the water from leaking out, it wouldn't start again.
I had to go all the way out into the alley, get my old clothes washer, and haul it back inside. There were some scrappers circling it already like hyenas. Although I am hesitant to use violence, I had to beat one of them very badly before they fled. As I pushed the clothes washer back inside, hearing the squeals of terror as they drove blindly down my alleys at highway speed in their surprisingly-nice-condition high-mileage Chev pickups, I thought about the disservice I had done to my readership.
Friends: don't buy fucking anything. It all sucks now. Even if your clothes smell all manky and your dishes don't really get clean, your local neighbourhood mad scientist can probably figure out how to bodge it back together into working. Sure, it might not work as well as when it was new, but neither do you, and you wouldn't want your kids putting your quirky old ass out on the curb to be picked up by scrappers.
