More accurately, I'll argue with my handyman, Charles about why I want him to fix it. Persuading Charles to repair or replace an item that is not currently broken is a foreign concept to him, and only necessary because I broke my fucking neck in the summer of 1980 and my ass has been glued to a wheelchair ever since. Plus I'm an uptight, anal know-it all forced to rely on others kindness and helpful nature. So if a light bulb burns out in a ceiling fixture with multiple bulbs, I want all the bulbs replaced. That way I'm good for a few years before I must seek someone to do the simple task of screwing in a light bulb for me. At times fixing stuff that ain't broke actually ends up with breaking something that then really needs fixing. Luckily, Charles puts up with my shit and, in actuality, never really argues with me. So this morning after we had to MacGyver the kitchen faucet, which wasn't broken until I insisted on some elective Pfister therapy, he grabbed some towels and soaked up a bucketful of water without giving me too much grief. Thanks, buddy! This one's for you, and my spinal-brother, Jimbo --"Still Alive but Not Kicking" -- Grassinger [R.I.P.].
Fang, "Destroy the Handicapped."