When I arrived home, the door was opened.

When I arrived home, the door was opened. I thought about my cats and if they were safe. Suddenly, I heard a noise and people stepping down the stairs very quickly. I didn't unders

revenge for more than a decade. They cackled as they watched me evade the death robot they had bought off of eBay. It was hours before I realized that it was just a Roomba.

My inability to differentiate death robots from small appliances was ruining my life. I saw a therapist who used hypnosis to uncover my repressed memories of ritualistic childhood

chores around the house. I hated chores! Yet, in a sadistic weekly ritual, I was forced to run the coffeemaker, iron the clothes, and these appliances began to look demonic and

menacing. My house appliances were conspiring my demise. The iron sizzled. My dress shirt was burnt beyond repair. Downstairs, the coffeemaker sputtered in high-pitched tones

which sort of sounded a little like a John Philip Sousa march. That reminded me of being in the Marching Band at Cal State Long Beach. Bow did that suck holy hog nipples. First

you had to shave your entire body. Then they made you refer to the band leader as "El Matador" and they only let you eat lima bean tamales. It was probably the worst 6 weeks of m

y vegan initiation. With 2 carrot horns I entered the arena & faced El Matador who wielded a chilled salad fork. Then the beans kicked in & I 'broke on through to the other side'.

To make a long story short, I defeated El Matador with no trouble whatsoever. Now, you might think I'm full of hot air, that this story is bull crap. And that's absolutely true.