“GE, we bring good things to death.”
Let’s look up the new NATO country on the CIA Factbook page and await howling MethCreatures™ in the alley. How do they know what I’m doing in my South St. Louis house? Perhaps I should write a book to be shelved under “Parapsychology.”
No, this Hughes deals in facts. Why not instead go to Find Law on the .mil .net and “discover” how many lawsuits are pending over my GE electric stove that should have been hauled off by the South Side junkman long ago. As you can see, this irresponsible company is still selling the piece of crap.
- The oven does not heat to the digitally advertised temp.
- Unless you are a 5’ 4’’ female, a real man of six feet or taller is repeatedly burned trying to remove his pizza. It’s so bad, I look like a self-mutilator.
- The rangetop burners do not stay on steadily. They pulsate, like the throbbing male member in face book porno I am starting to enjoy too much.
- The top of the range stays hot long after your mac cheese has been consumed. Ouch!
- The self-cleaning feature features a readout of “420,” and does not do a damn thing.
- DARPA, NSA, or possibly off-budget JPL scientists change my clock on the stove. Then, I check the phone. Caught! [CIA would never do this. They are busy convincing “nice guy” tribal leaders to accept a pickup truck full of rifles that were dropped by lazy-assed airmen who should have leveled Assad’s office by now and sent him to a pre-terror event Paris like the 1970’s Shah, in my opinion].
- The broiler coils are positioned to “Ow! Fuck!” burn you often.
- The top of the stove is now cracked, like DONALD TRUMP.
- I found the patent number on a device that proved Einstein wrong? This must be why the Ft. Lauderdale, Florida and Richmond Heights, Missouri cops watch me when I eat bagels made by a company with the same name as Al’s. You can get through the line way faster than Starbucks with Albert staring down at you. [They are not the best bagels on the planet, and the coffee is so-so, but the staff tends to retain their minimum wage jobs, I discovered].
- I myself would rather not travel through time to get to D.C. A sturdy GM vehicle would be okay with me, and “The Cops,” if all legalities are tended to, like my goddamn property tax waiver. Me, own property? Not allowed, in the U.S. or Canada! Perhaps the Iranians could hire a few more embassy call-takers to speed a “near beer” disco I seek a permit for when I get some of my own wealth. All the “eggs in one basket?” Maybe by age 86, at this rate. [The nightclub will probably be open only one night a week in Tehran for starters]. Persian girls will someday be dancing in my disco, son, right next to the Arkansas razorback pig flying air support for all visitors to my rented Carodolet chalet I may inherit when my Godson gets through the Probate Court process.
Just another reminder that the answer to all transportation dilemmas is:
What is that thing on the floor? A dehumidifier?