I’m looking for symbols. There are none. I’m a broken dishwasher sitting next to a pea green couch that smells like cat piss.
There is no truck to pick me up. Pickup day is tomorrow.
Sometimes the spinner thing works. The tea cups – I can’t get them back to white. The water inspires the soap to work hard, but I don’t work. The results are dismal.
The kids threw a gallon of white paint all over the blue tile floor. Where is the symbol that tells me what to do?
I’m hoping the pipes burst and carry me away. The pipes never burst when I want.
The kids scrub the floor for hours. It seems to get better, but streaks of white are everywhere. The kids eyes are bleary.
A broken dishwasher is a heavy, worthless box. People chop meat and vegetables on top of me. They also cut bread, but they don’t chop enough on me to keep me.
stillfugue 
#1 by carldagostino on April 2, 2011 - 8:22 am
You have to be a certain age to appreciate this. 61, like me for instance.
#2 by Carl on April 3, 2011 - 9:14 am
I’m feeling pretty old now. You’re right, Carl.