Monday, June 6, 2011

Bring Out Your Dead: Coping With X-Box Loss

Morning Readers,

     Sometimes Husband and I have really bad luck. A lot of people have bad luck, but our particular brand of bad luck suggests we work really hard at it:

 i.e. "That's right, Marge. I heard about that Kellerman wedding. Mmm hmmm....yep, right after they broke all those mirrors, they started chasing each other under ladders and throwing black cats all over the place. No, no, that was after  the ritual goat sacrifice....but the food was good. A taco bar can fix anything...

You'd understand my lack of surprise, then, when another rain of toads hit the split-level, this weekend. Only, it wasn't toads (just in case you thought it was toads..if it ever is toads...well, let's not think about it..), but something which sounds equally biblical...

     I'd settled into my favorite "butt groove", on my fifty-dollar couch. After a long evening, Butch and Sundance were asleep, my Coors was ice-cold, and my trigger finger, hovering over my X-Box controller, was ready to hand Husband his rear in some trivia. My euphoria was short-lived, however, as Husband had begun producing sounds comparable to hyenas being beaten to death with potato mashers..

"It''s the red ring of death. No, no, no, no." The look on his face suggested he'd swallowed a box of thumbtacks and was trying, slowly, to pass each one. "Why? Why now? Why me?"

     What followed, was a stream of unintelligible phraseology, from which, I was able only to extricate something about "Burning, red rings of death". Deep down, I'd always known we'd end up being committed together, eating apple sauce, side by side, in matching hospital gowns. I'd just assumed I'd be the first to go, and we'd be closer to forty..  

"Honey? What's a "fiery, ring of death"? I'm only asking because I'm pretty sure we didn't eat Indian food, tonight. That, and you look like you're about to explode. And, as fun as it'd be to put "He 'Sploded" on your tombstone, we may want to talk this out."

     After which, he turned the crazy eye on me and began to explain what happened. Apparently, older model X-boxes (or, as they're know in the wild, "Ex Boxinus") have a short life-span, lasting a couple, short years. On the unlucky day the owner pushes the power button and it turns red and not green, the owner has been informed by Microsoft, they're up a creek, without a paddle.
     From what I gathered, the couch was the creek and we were staring at each other, without paddles. Unsure how a paddle could be used to turn-on an X-Box, I gave the ok to buy another one, mainly because I didn't want to see Husband explode - exploded husbands are notoriously hard to Febreze out of fifty-dollar couches - and because we use that particular gaming system for everything, including searching for " B Horror Movies of the 80's" on instant Netflix..
      Like the graceful and awe-inspiring gazelle, I watched husband leap from the couch, grab his keys and run for the garage. Thirty-minutes later, we had a shiny, new gaming console. We patted it affectionately, resisted the urge to name it Howard, and revved it up to play some trivia. It cost us a pretty penny, but, as I was telling one of our friends, we don't have any jewelry or priceless heirlooms to hand down to our children. They shall inherit the X-Box, and hand it down to their children and their children's children, and the Kellermans will enjoy a long legacy of X-Box longevity...

..until one of the babies shoves a piece of toast in it.

Until Next Time Readers!