Microwave Dave's Bad Days - 3. Death? and Canned Spaghetti

Oh, boy. I had a scary time two nights ago. There was a power outage. I didn't see anybody else come into the kitchen to unplug me, so it must have been bigger than just me. Things went dark. I thought I may have died, well, I did after the power came back on. Hey, I'm like Jesus or Lazarus, I arose from the dead. That's sooooo cool. I hope I wasn't reincarnated as a blender, or worse, a can opener. It is worse, really. Nobody ever cleans their can opener. I've never seen anyone do it, and it's right across the kitchen from me. Clear line of sight, right?

Nope. I ran a diagnostic; everything is the way it should be. Like I said, nobody else came in, but my nemesis was there before I died. He had just dumped a can of spaghetti and meatballs into a bowl and put it in my mouth. He pressed five: '5, bowl of soup, three minutes, high.' We were twenty-five seconds through when I died. Hey, I'm going with that, Prove me wrong. I didn't even need a defibrillator to come back to life. Try that, you boring human.

So, my internal clock tells me the power was out for thirty hours, forty-two minutes, and three seconds. Then, two hours, fif... What? You don't need accuracy? Damn, perfect timing is pretty important to me, but if you insist. Almost three hours later, Devlin shows up. He had a bag of microwave popcorn. He was going to put it in my mouth when he saw the bowl of spaghetti. I guess he put the popcorn away; he disappeared off to my left and came back without it. Anyway, I guess he figured he'd continue heating the spaghetti. So, he hits five again, and I start cooking it. Almost three minutes later, is that better, you approximate human? About three minutes later, the sauce starts bubbling. Fortunately, it only bubbles for six seconds. Yeah, I could have said about five, but screw it, I'm done with this rounding off shit. I wasn't built to deal with that. I beep, letting Devlin know his food is ready.

As expected, he comes back to open my mouth. The moron tries picking up the bowl without a potholder. Awwww, did you burn your fingers? Good! Damn, he grabs the oven mitt without much hesitation. I guess he didn't really get burned. He sure as hell dropped the bowl like a hot potato. No, he dropped it like a hot bowl. Accuracy is important. Since he physically dropped it, a little spilled onto my stomach. Slimy. I've never felt tomato sauce like that before.

Anyway, he takes the bowl out, I can't see what he did with it, my mouth is open, and it's pointed to the right. Okay, he closed my mouth back up and sits down at the table. Starts eating the spaghetti. He's making a face. Slimy; Ah, I get it now. It was sitting in me for thirty-three hours, thirty-seven minutes, and twelve seconds. It went rancid. Oh, goody. He's still eating it. I suppose it doesn't taste too bad. I guess that's because he finished it. He walked over to the sink to rinse the bowl.

Oh, gross!! Just as he turns around from the sink, he opens his mouth and hurls. You know, barfs. Pukes all over the floor. Even a little projectile vomit hits the kitchen table. It's all over the place. Thank God he was far enough away from me to not puke in my eye, or shit, even my mouth. I'm glad I don't have a nose. That shit has got to stink. He starts to walk away...

Sorry, I was kind of laughing. That was fucking funny. He took a step and slipped in his own puke. He fell down and slipped again when he tried to stand back up. He's literally covered in his own vomit. Front and back. He starts crying and Mrs. Unlucky comes running in. She takes one look and loses whatever she had for lunch. She was a little bit smarter and made it to the sink before hurling.

The Unluckys have a smart TV as well. He told me about a movie he played once, 'Stand By Me,' where there was this puking scene. I guess I witnessed something like it live. It would have been great if Seneca was home. That's the dad, in case you forgot. You know, 'people of the standing rock.' Anyway, Mrs. Unlucky tells Devlin to take his clothes off. Oh, please God, don't make me look at his butt again. Whew. She grabs him by the top of his head, it's the only spot that isn't vomit infested, and leads him out of the room to where the washing machine is. I know she's there because she's a smart device too. We all communicate with each other. We have to. Sitting around hours at a time doing nothing gets boring. Try it some time. Bet you don't last more than ten minutes. I can only review my settings so many times before I want to blow a fuse.

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Oh, joy. Happy, happy, joy, joy. Devlin has a bucket and a sponge. His mom is making him clean his mess up. Oh, no. He's got that look again. He runs to the sink and prevents himself from making an even bigger mess. He lets loose into the sink this time. He's facing mostly away from me, so I can only see a little bit, but he's making the sound he did when he vomited all over the place before. Poor kid. Poor kid? What the hell am I saying? He deserves every bit of discomfort for what he does to me.

Well, I do have to be thankful for one thing. This time, his screw up didn't cause me any physical damage. I can live with the couple drops of slimy tomato sauce on my tummy. It'll burn off. Even emotionally, no damage. I'll be laughing about HIS misfortune for days. Okay, I can't really laugh, but you get the idea. At least until he screws up with me again. It will happen. I know it, just like you know the sun rises every morning. Guar-an-damn-teed. You don't believe me? I talk to the lottery machine too. He knows what numbers he's going to generate hours before he tells anyone. Want tonight's pick five? Okay, watch my display, I'm only blinking them once.

Missed it? Too bad, so sad, hate to be you.