The Undeniable Hazards of Spaghetti
I made spaghetti.
It seems like a simple act, but it's far from simple. It's a labyrinthian nightmare.
Allow me to explain.
Phase one: cooking. The meat (buffalo) needs a skillet. The kitchen window must be opened in case the skillet smokes so the smoke detector won't go off. The meat, after cooking, needs a strainer. The spaghetti needs a big pot. The the meat, after draining, needs a container. The sauce needs a pot, although you might be able to use the spaghetti pot after straining the pasta, which needs a much larger strainer than the meat. Oh, and you need to go to the grocery store and buy a second jar of spaghetti sauce, because the first jar had enough saturated fat to take down a rhino. You need a large spoon for stirring the sauce. You need a special spoon with a slot and a claw to take out the pasta. You need a bowl to eat the pasta. You need an eating spoon. You close the kitchen window.
You eat.
After eating, the kitchen looks like the apocalypse. It needs cleaning. This takes a considerable length of time, as long as it took for cooking. Your work/eat ratio is roughly 6:1 at this point.
The next day, you have four more days of spaghetti in the refrigerator. You decide to get a sandwich instead because you're very busy.
The next day, you have spaghetti for lunch and realize you don't even like spaghetti anymore. What were you thinking, cooking this spaghetti? You decide to dispose of the remaining three days of spaghetti, even though you know this is not the right thing to do.
The heart wants what it wants.
You pour the spaghetti into the sink and start feeding it into the garbage disposal. About halfway through, the garbage disposal goes whoosh and sucks in all the rest of the spaghetti at once. A second later, as you keep running water for the disposal, that water starts rising in the sink.
The spaghetti has clogged the disposal.
You try Drano. It does not work, and now your house smells like the strongest chlorine bleach you've ever smelled. Before giving up entirely, you try to plunge the sink, and when the plunger establishes suction, Drano water splashes up and his your stomach and arms. You keep plunging and absolutely nothing happens, except you now need a shower.
You call the garbage disposal fixer service and schedule an appointment for the next day. In the meantime, the house smells of Drano and the watery sink stares at you like a giant, taunting eye. You decide to try plunging again, which doesn't work, but then you realize you've only plunged one of two sinks and you decide to try the other one. You plunge until your arms ache and then turn on the disposal and a sizable clump of spaghetti bits flies out of the sink you just plunged. You dispose of the spaghetti and keep plunging, and after 1,000 repetitions of this cycle, the sink suddenly clears. You cancel the appointment and take a shower.
This is why you should never make spaghetti.
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