Ahh, more silence.
Last week I dismantled the dryer, removed some $1.34 in change, several paperclips, a wad of lint the size of a large rodent and rather resembling one, and the odd 22 short, case split and lead rattling around in the blower section.
I greased the rollers as well, and reassembled it all. It didn’t make any noise at that point, though I didn’t have anything in it. It was always wet clothes that started it squeaking, so today was the first post-repair laundry day.
Loaded with wet jeans, it passed the Dog test with flying colors- prior to last week, the dryer always woke the dog and made him bark, as it sounded rather like a siamese tom being dismantled with power tools. Today, he never even blinked an eye, from his spot in front of the fireplace.
I’m getting more and more to the point where I just want everyone and everything around me to just shut up.
For some reason rebuilding my washer merely gives me grim satisfaction, but rebuilding my dryer elates me. Am I cursed with some kind of fluffy gene? I have no idea.
I have never attempted to rebuild a dryer. I assume one should un-plug the beast before beginning?
“I’m getting more and more to the point where I just want everyone and everything around me to just shut up.” – Og
Preach it, brother.
I have an idea that I hope I can get rich with, but I can’t figure out how to code it.
It’s an anti-social network.
Get-outta-my-face-book.
Lotta firewalls.
Unlike buttons.
Lists of people to get lost.
Og, Grumpy; I’m with ya bros. Ed, you build it, I’ll subscribe.
Oh to be left in peace. So far the best method I’ve found is sitting quietly in a pile of dog shit, with a white shoelace dangling from my mouth.
Not to worry (yet) it’s a pile of synthetic foam painted to look like dog shit. Real shoe lace though.
A bearded white haired geezer sitting in a pile of shit peacefully gnawing on a shoe lace seems to be intimidating. Even the cops are only interested from afar.
Gerry N.