“Okay everyone. Hang on and watch Randy open this one. You’ll want to see the look on his face.”
I can’t really say I’ve ever heard that particular statement prior to tearing into a Christmas or birthday present. Naturally, I proceeded with a tad bit of hesitance.
Good Lord in Heaven, why hadn’t I thought of something like this before? I could have made my millions by now on the mere novelty of it all and dispensed with the weekly lottery investments years ago. Forget about whether the product actually worked or not. Anybody with a properly trained pet which isn’t adverse to having its paws and claws covered up could benefit from the clean, non-carpeted floors for the life of the pet.
Putting those things on my beloved pit bull Hope would add a whole new dynamic to the situation as well. Who needs a Roomba when you have a RoomBull?
How would I get her to go under the couch and behind the TV stand? Would she get up against the baseboards? What about the ceiling fan blades? Are there accessories I can purchase for that task too?
Sadly, the joy and challenging times which lay ahead with Hope were extinguished when I opened the box to find out that the premise of a RoomBull was a hoax.
Instead, a pair of new britches in my style and size were neatly rolled up in there as if they had come out of a Pringles can pre-potato chip.
In the meantime, I’m off for the next week.
You know what that means, don’t you?
There are a few blogs knocking around in my head which I would like to publish before all is said and done for 2013. That includes my annual dispatch of TharpSterLutions. In addition, any one (if not all) of the following stories could appear:
• Massacre at the Stuff Mart
• Roller Disco Flash Mob
• It Hurts When I Wipe – Observations On Getting Old
In other news and on a completely unrelated matter, the toilet in the master bathroom is driving us nuts. I had to replace the float assembly sometime back. The product I bought has some sort of locking clip under the float which keeps the tank from filling up with water whenever we flush. I’ve bought a new one that doesn’t have that stupid little clip. If ever there was a colossal display on the true meaning of “leave well enough alone”, it resides in whatever brain fart of an idea the savants at the toilet parts manufacture envisioned after pulling all nighters with Red Bull and the Ty-D-Bol Man.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find a new way to keep the dirt off of the tile.