Saturday, August 11, 2012

There's Something Fishy In The Nation Of Hillmomba

Well. Not only was Farmer H born yesterday, but apparently one of him is born every minute. Don't we all shudder at that thought?

In this summer's continuing trend of items repaired working worse than before they were serviced...my T-Hoe's tire has issues.

Perhaps you remember T-Hoe's tire. The one that loses four pounds of air per week. The one that The Pony and I inflate weekly at the convenience store where we buy gas. Not to be confused with the convenience store where we buy gas station chicken. It has no customer air. Nor the convenience store where we buy my 44 oz. Diet Coke refills for the low, low price of eighty cents. Sweet Gummi Mary! They charge a dollar for air! I suppose they have to, what with the steal on 44 oz. Diet Cokes.

Last Saturday, one week ago, for those of you not good with calendars and math, Farmer H took T-Hoe to town and had that tire fixed. He then said he drove it over to the BARn and put 32 pounds of air in it. That's the recommended inflatage for T-Hoe's tires. So...this morning I got into T-Hoe, one week after the fixage, remember, and discovered that the repaired tire is now harboring 27 pounds of air. THAT'S WORSE THAN BEFORE REPAIR!

I call shenanigans! Farmer H hedged his tire-repair excursion with the excuse that, after all, he had taken it to The Devil's Playground, and we would see if a new valve stem was really what The Devil ordered. Funny how he did not ask me for the five dollars that he said the repair cost him. So...did he really get the tire repaired, or just say he did? Why wouldn't The Devil's minions put air in a tire they had just fixed, huh? Seems like THEY would have put in 32 pounds.

I really need to call Mystery, Inc. Hopefully, all tires on the Mystery Machine are properly inflated.

2 comments:

Sioux said...

Since most men can't find their butt with both hands, I'm sure--if Hick tried to "repair" the tire himself--he could not find the hole/problem.

Yes, the situation DOES stink. It smells of Spam. Of a toilet that is apparently (sometimes) not a big enough target. Of gas station corn dogs that have been rolling under the heating lamp all day long.

In other words, it smells like a male did it.

knancy said...

Referencing July 29th and 31st posts I think, perhaps, more vigilance is necessary. Time to move him to the BARn for good.