Every time I make ice cubes

I can’t help thinking about the sinking of the Titanic, and how the lower chambers filled up in sequence “just like an ice cube tray” or some shit.

Thanks you so very much, Mr. Wizard, for burning that tidbit of information into my brain for all eternity while I was too young to use beta blockers to lock you out of my head. (Yes,  I watched cranky old Mr. Wizard himself, Don Herbert as a cultural reference.  I’m old, okay? Sure, I could have also used Bill Nye . But then I would only think about him getting his ass kicked off Dancing With the Stars the second week, and that would only make me more depressed.)

And thank you, John, for being such a lousy provider that we can’t afford a refrigerator with an automatic ice maker in the door, thus saving me the image of Leonardo DiCaprio’s frozen corpse flashing through my mind every time I want a stupid glass of peach iced tea.

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