Am I Sterile Yet?

As if I didn’t have enough to worry about. Now I need to worry about electromagnetic fields of radiation emitted from my television, computers, major kitchen appliances, CLOCK RADIOS JUST INCHES FROM MY HEAD FOR 8 HOURS A DAY, and those stealthy comforters of death, electric blankets. And if you’ve seen my house, you know I’m screwed. My living room looks like the cockpit of a 747. I basically live in a computer from the 1950s, with some rotten wood stapled over it. So I’m not just royally screwed; I’m Princess Di Chased By Paparazzi screwed. Unless I buy filters for all of my deathray machines, but for that price, I could just buy a new body.

The good news is that our television set is old. I think it once belonged to Barney Rubble. It is also the size of a teenage brontosaurus, and just as unwieldy. It is so large and unwieldy it would take a team of twenty juvenile delinquents tied together with rope to steal it. And even then one of the thieves would likely get horribly crushed in the process. And when I see his (or her, because criminal behavior is an equal opportunity hobby) body on my living room floor when I discover the crime, I’d get pretty sad because it means one of my violence prevention grants didn’t work out so well.