Here at Detox Mansion

We had enough snow yesterday in Norwich, yeah it's still Fall as both daily newspapers pointed out on their front pages (so what?), that I was finally able to move the snow blower we got last spring (at somebody's close-out) and had stored in the garage under a tarpaulin out under the rear stairs and fire that mutha up.

I have no mechanical ability (I accidentally learned last week my car has an alarm after arming it while in the vehicle, sitting in the parking lot at the grocery. Still have no idea how I did whatever I did but am happy I didn't do it again. Doesn't that sound just like Norwich?) and so just finding where you put the oil in and where the gas goes took forever.
Dear people who make stuff like snow blowers: Yes, I know they are for manly men and, as such, laugh in the face of common sense but let's face it, lots of the engine parts are made out of plastic like the crankcase where the oil goes and the gas tank. Why must this always be made of the darkest, blackest plastic you can find? Why can't they be clear, so a talentless goober like me can see, with a glance, was is los in the lubrication and fuel departments? Is this too much to ask? If it is, sorry. And maybe it is fortunate that I didn't pursue chainsaw juggling as a career.

After hardly any time at all, I got the machine started and moving (forward. It has five forward speeds and two reverse which is one more of each than my car has) and, honestly, within thirty seconds I could actually feel myself changing into some other guy. I no longer just walked behind the snow blower, I sauntered. I didn't sniffle from the cold--I wiped my nose with the back of my right glove and it felt good. Within a minute, I could already see how NOT getting the model with chains and the two headlights was a HUGE mistake and within two minutes had decided that now that I had the technology, why not go ahead and try to snow blow the ENTIRE backyard. Afraid of nature and the environment? HA! I have my technology to protect me. Thank goodness I ran out of gas.
Maybe there's a patch, like for smoking?
-bill kenny