My Dishwasher: A Song of Hate

You, you --- dishwasher! What sort of inept pygmy designed your cramped interior? And your spinners that do not really spin? Are you a toaster oven with grandiose ambitions? Are you a Robin Hood, attempting to redistribute food from the haves to the have-nots of the kitchen community rather than remove it? Or are you secretly a hoarder, collecting onion bits in the murky fens of drainage-land?

I can understand why my coffee thermoses don't fit; clearly you are just prejudiced against the caffeinated. I can somewhat understand why my frenchpress beaker does not fit and has to be tilted at a crazy angle for maximum gunk-collection: this is an apartment complex full of students and old retired people and they cannot be expected to drink coffee in their home. Such a bizarre activity!

But what I cannot understand --- what I cannot even begin to comprehend --- is what sort of one-eyed fool would install the top dishwasher rack in such a way that none of my water glasses fit! Is this all part of a vast conspiracy to prevent the denizens of The Hot Place from consuming too much water? Is it a sign of the corruption of The Hot Place Power and Water Company, and proof that any moment Jack Nicholson will enter stage left and have his nostril slit with a knife?

I insist at the very least on being Faye Dunaway in this crazy noir extravaganza.

No wait, I take that back; I want the role where I can slap the damnfool silly who designed this, this botch of a dishwasher that can either hold a saucepan or 9 dinner plates but won't really hold any combinations that I use when making dinner. Curse you, maker of cramped, wimpy dishwashers! I shake my fist and dishrag at you as I rewash all my bowls! May your fingernails shrivel up and fall off! May you get the worst case of dishpan hands all over your arse! May everything you touch turn to chipped crockery! You, you mildew, you!

I hope you are never ever lemony fresh ever again.


*(Ok, life is pretty good if this is all you got to hate on, right? That said, the complaint, in many cultures, has been raised to a form of art. I consider myself an artiste.)