Make My Day

Months ago, a roundseventeen reader sent me a backhanded compliment. He said I had a knack for writing about nothing. And making it entertaining.

Today qualifies as one of those days. But I make no promises regarding any perceived entertainment value.

You see last weekend I purchased a new power washer. The one I had owned for 10 years finally called it quits. Power washers are a lot like dogs in that one year of their life is worth 7 of ours.

Unlike my dog I have no emotional connection to the old Power Washer. It was finicky. The heavy duty wires were always getting tangled. And it would short out every 20 minutes. I suspect that's normal for a machine that magically runs on electricity and water, which go together like homosexuals and North Carolinians.

And so a trip to the Home Depot was in order. I returned home with the CleanForce 1800. As its name indicates, it puts out 1800 pounds of pressure per square inch. That's a 10% boost over my previous washer, which on a good day, put out 1600 psi.

Now I get a big kick out of all the late night male enhancement infomercials on TV. I particularly enjoy their frequent use of euphemisms to skirt some FCC ruling that they cannot say the word penis. And though I have no want, or need, for their magic stamina-inducing pills, I like to think of this new power washer as my own personal male enhancement.

The simile is not that big a stretch.

With my power wand in hand and 1800 psi at my disposal I am the alpha male of my own domain. I quickly established my dominance over the lesser inhabitants and took out a hornets nest dangling from one of the eaves. I marked my territory, scouring the driveway, removing years of built-up gunk on the dining room back entrance. And I served notice to my back patio, laying down the law with my new zero soot tolerance commandment.

Don't f*ck with me, flagstone.

That's what I love about my new CleanForce 1800, in addition to water it gets my testosterone flowing.