For the umpteenth time, the refrigerator ice maker here at the humble abode has failed to produce. Stopped, no workee. How can this be? It's not like it's a computer with nearly unlimited abilities to perform requests upon demand. No, it has one stinkin' job, one simple task, to make little chunks of frozen water, spit them out, repeat. That's it. Yet, this damn thing has had more problems than the NASA space shuttles.
To review: I've cleaned the water valve, burnished the relay contacts, douched the water line, cussed it, bitch slapped it, pleaded with it, asked forgiveness, made promises (but didn't keep) and the stupid thing still quits on me. Not only that, but it quits at the most critical time of the week, the Sunday Morning Bloody Mary time. And after all I've done for it too. It's soooo hard to find good help these days.
For the record, the ice maker is being replaced, fired, dishonorably discharged. In fact, when the new one arrives, some time this week, I'm planning on a simple but appropriate ceremony whereupon I take the largest hammer I can find in the tool box and beat that son of a bitch into pieces too small to be seen by the naked eye. There will be no service afterward.
Excuse me while I go look for some old fashioned ice trays.