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They don't make 'em like they used to... I hope


For they third time in four years, the ice maker on my GE refrigerator broke. Pouring water through the floor and into my basement office, ruining my collection of spiked leather undies and ball gags. Even worse, rusting my collector's edition, engraved, pre-Y2k, Gateway 2000 nipple clamps.

Obviously it's time to use the safe word.

I may be a confirmed masochist, as evidenced by the four kids, the job, my choice of consumer electronics and now...Twitter, but enough is enough. I need a new refrigerator. Seven years of pain, frozen salad, iced up ice maker lines, overheating compressors, plastic bits falling off, $200 lightbulbs and the discovery that the cool electronic temperature setting control panel is actually a fake has led to this decision. I need a new mistress. One who uses fur-lined handcuffs and a quick-release hog-tie...and not so much whip that I'm embarrassed at the gym.

It's going to be a lot like dating, with less Craigslist and more Consumer Reports. The objective is to get fucked, but spend the smallest amount of money possible. Remember children, in the real world problems are solved by paying the lowest bidder 10% more than the highest bidder, and a nice water-based lubricant spiked with lidocane.

Unless you're buying a car, in which case you can forget the lube. Plus tax.

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