| Ye God! My homestead is turning into something that wants to kill me, a la that episode of The Simpsons in which Pierce Brosnan plays the voice of a computerised house that wants to top Homer and seduce Marge. However, in this scenario my house doesn't talk (it would only bitch out not being hosed down enough on extremely hot days), it isn't technologically-advanced and it doesn't try to seduce any occupants (which is a good thing...I really couldn't handle anyone dry-humping a wall at the moment). It has been trying to kill me though. You see, it has started with small hints and is slowly moving towards my demise. Recently my house has killed my new hard drive (almost subjecting me a loss of many precious files), the plumbing in the bathroom, my bed (I have no idea why I had about three large screws missing from my bed frame) and my last VCR. My house has also claimed the lives of five precious rotating fans in the last couple of weeks. Last night was a dim view of things to come. I was lying on my reconstructed bed, watching the teev and enjoying the cool breeze of the house's most powerful fan to date. As an eyelid was about to fall, a sudden boom erupted in my room, causing a brilliant flash of light and the shaking of walls. Thinking that the house had decided to take care of my computing resources period, I ran around and switched off every power source in my vicinity. Boy it really stank...something was burning, which is a pretty usual result of an explosion in a confined space. I took my PC into a room that wasn't as smelly to check out the damage. Nothing was wrong there surprisingly. Hearing a commotion, the Peach Nazi came to check out the damage. "What's wrong?" he boomed. I waved my hands about madly, "There was a bloody explosion in my room!" "Where?" I led him to ground zero, where he waded through the mess (which was there before the blast, mind you). He looked at the fan, which was switched off. "Was it the fan?" he asks. "No, it was still working after the boom." He mumbled something incoherent and switched on the fan. Nothing happened. "The fan's stuffed", he announced. "Shit!" I had no fanage. He hit another speed on the control and the fan started doing its thing. However, as it turned, the large power cord at the back started sparking and convulsing. The Peach Nazi started fiddling with the sparking power cord, displaying its dangerous nature further. It was when large flames started dancing about from the cord towards the carpet, that he stopped, as I looked around for somewhere where'd I'd be able to drop and roll if need be. The scary thing is that about ten minutes before the blast, the fan started to make clicking noises, so I stood behind it to click it into a static position. Wearing very flammable PJs at the time, I was about five centimetres away from the power cord of death. Now I am about to shower and wishing that I had never seen the moo-vie 'Pulse'.
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