10 June 2006
166
R. Linda:
I could not get past the Weasil riding me new washer, but I must say I do find the boyo to be not only a risk taker but a complete mindless idiot. I had yelled for Tonya to come to the cellar because as I watched Mr. W rotate in the washer, I thought I was seeing things, but no, me wife (who had been taking pictures of the squirrel sliding down the bird feeder - a discussion of which I told her the squirrel proof feeder would keep the tree rat at bay, and her proving me wrong with pictures!), came running down with camera in hand shouting, "Gabe, what are you doing? I can hear you banging from the back of the house . . . " Only to be cut short in anything else she wanted to say upon seeing the soggy, soapy-soaked face of Weasil in her new jumbo capacity washer.
However, she did have the presence of mind to take his picture, a sort of fare thee well if he drowned. The next she took upon me releasing young Weasil from his sudsy ride.
It was the taste of the detergent that had the young whippersnapper lost for words with the only thing coming out of his mouth being . . . soapsuds and "ughhh, ughhh, ughhh." What else could one say after being in a washer, the rotation of the drum has been on a rather high speed?
We got some of our damp towels and towelled him off, served him a dot of scotch at his garbled and soapy request (I was all for a spot of tea I was, and an explanation), but no, Tonnie got him his dram and as he sat in a soap bubble trance from the experience, blowing soap bubbles after each sip. Seeing he was alright, I gently nudged the question forward.
"How did YOU get inside the bleeding washer and get it to turn on with YOU in IT?"
Yes, that was me burning question it was. He sat there and told me he had got the water hooked up and put some detergent in to give it a test run, the water was pouring in ever so gently when he decided it was more a tickle than what was supposed to be happening. He opened the door, put his body beyond his waist inside and realised the water hadn't stopped. He reached up where the intake valve was when suddenly the drum began to turn, flipping the rest of him inside. He went around a few times before he found himself facing front with the door closed! Then I came down and stood there like a "moron" watching him instead of helping him like a normal person would.
That last was not so. I was stunned was all, shocked, bewildered, begorrah I was surprised! I was so much fascinated I couldn't move until I finally found it in me lungs to bellow for me wife, she just had to see this, the Weasil tumbling in soap suds in HER new washer!
So me wife rang up Mrs. Weasil and she came to fetch her boyo home. He was complaining his ribs hurt, but most of all his nose and probably broken it from hitting the glass door.
I rang him this morning to see how he was doing and he informed me he was just great, he'd come over later and hook up me dryer.
Uh-huh.
Pic of the aftermath.
The drip-dry Mr. Weasil.
Gabe
Copyright © 2006 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I could not get past the Weasil riding me new washer, but I must say I do find the boyo to be not only a risk taker but a complete mindless idiot. I had yelled for Tonya to come to the cellar because as I watched Mr. W rotate in the washer, I thought I was seeing things, but no, me wife (who had been taking pictures of the squirrel sliding down the bird feeder - a discussion of which I told her the squirrel proof feeder would keep the tree rat at bay, and her proving me wrong with pictures!), came running down with camera in hand shouting, "Gabe, what are you doing? I can hear you banging from the back of the house . . . " Only to be cut short in anything else she wanted to say upon seeing the soggy, soapy-soaked face of Weasil in her new jumbo capacity washer.
However, she did have the presence of mind to take his picture, a sort of fare thee well if he drowned. The next she took upon me releasing young Weasil from his sudsy ride.
It was the taste of the detergent that had the young whippersnapper lost for words with the only thing coming out of his mouth being . . . soapsuds and "ughhh, ughhh, ughhh." What else could one say after being in a washer, the rotation of the drum has been on a rather high speed?
We got some of our damp towels and towelled him off, served him a dot of scotch at his garbled and soapy request (I was all for a spot of tea I was, and an explanation), but no, Tonnie got him his dram and as he sat in a soap bubble trance from the experience, blowing soap bubbles after each sip. Seeing he was alright, I gently nudged the question forward.
"How did YOU get inside the bleeding washer and get it to turn on with YOU in IT?"
Yes, that was me burning question it was. He sat there and told me he had got the water hooked up and put some detergent in to give it a test run, the water was pouring in ever so gently when he decided it was more a tickle than what was supposed to be happening. He opened the door, put his body beyond his waist inside and realised the water hadn't stopped. He reached up where the intake valve was when suddenly the drum began to turn, flipping the rest of him inside. He went around a few times before he found himself facing front with the door closed! Then I came down and stood there like a "moron" watching him instead of helping him like a normal person would.
That last was not so. I was stunned was all, shocked, bewildered, begorrah I was surprised! I was so much fascinated I couldn't move until I finally found it in me lungs to bellow for me wife, she just had to see this, the Weasil tumbling in soap suds in HER new washer!
So me wife rang up Mrs. Weasil and she came to fetch her boyo home. He was complaining his ribs hurt, but most of all his nose and probably broken it from hitting the glass door.
I rang him this morning to see how he was doing and he informed me he was just great, he'd come over later and hook up me dryer.
Uh-huh.
Pic of the aftermath.
Gabe
Copyright © 2006 All rights reserved
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