The American Dream or why basements are terrible

There is no sight so wonderful to a man returning home from a day at the office than a refrigerator full of spilled milk. While the saying, there is no use crying over spilt milk is apt, I think the latter half of the phrase is left off when one is using it in the hearing range of children, said ending, being: but it's probably worth a few f bombs particularly if it got in the vegetable drawer.

Well, no sooner had I finished pulling everything out of the refrigerator and using an entire paper towel roll to sop up the milk that I decided to go down into my basement. We had started the day with a violent thunderstorm, and I was curious what shape the basement would be in. Well, no sooner had I reached the half-way point on the stairs when I noticed Kevin Costner riding a strange boat and shooting the first scenes of Water World Part 2. This caused me a bit of distress, particularly since I think he was so great in Field of Dreams. So, I went back upstairs, pulled my old wet suit from CA down and headed into the basement.

Basements were invented by people on the East Coast during the late 19th century for the express purpose of conducting Roman arena like boat wars. Unfortunately, this fact has remained largely obscured to your modern home owner, mainly due to some misguiding by the real estate agents of America, who encourage you to set up your home entertainment system down there, and generally behave as though it is a fine room and not what it is, a great place for a small aquarium.

The basement was also clearly invented by East Coasters because they are a cruel lot, still enraged by the long winters that they have forced upon themselves, the cruel absence of that grandiloquent western sky leaves their souls, a bit pressed in. Such a lack makes a man or woman do something downright dirty like digging out a basement willfully ignoring, like Icarus the sun, the water table you are near to standing on by the end of the project. Oh cruel easttern folks. Why?

Naturally the grand dam and I spent the evening exchanging barbs, not good naturedly I'm afraid. The spirit is a bit too crushed when one arrives home from work to find Noah proved right, and the proof of it sloshing about on your bottom floor. I could go on for hours, lamenting the ill make of mops at CVS and Target, but what would be gained by that? No, enough of this not has already been lost to sopping up milk and water. It is time to wash myself anew with sleep.