We recently had a gas leak in our house. And I'm not talking about me eating too many bags of Olestra either.
My pregnant wife has super senses. That's what happens when you're pregnant - you turn into Spider-Man for 9 months. Your eyesight can detect X-rays and gamma rays, your touch becomes super sensitive to husbands trying to get lucky, and your nose is capable of picking up the smallest molecule that has any kind of scent.
Anyway, Betty opened the oven one day and smelled something suspicious. I flipped - I never wanted a gas oven, specifically because I thought our house would explode. Betty called the gas company and they came over and used their newfangled tools to detect where the gas was leaking.
"You have a leaky joint," they told me. I smelled my armpit and wrist, but then the gas guy explained more succinctly, "where your gas line connects to the oven. You need to get that bolt fitted on tighter and wrap it up good with some tape."
My father-in-law handled all of that. Nobody was willing to chance our house not blowing up on my ability to fix a gas line.
The next day, Betty smelled gas again. We got the gas guy out there again, and sure enough there was another gas leak.
"You have a leaky pipe," the guy said. "Gonna need a new pipe." This time the gas guy fixed our pipe for us.
The next day, Betty smelled gas again. The gas guy came out, told us that something in our gas oven was leaking, and that he suggested getting a new oven. We could have fixed our old oven but it would have been half as expensive as just buying a new one.
Now we don't have a gas leak. And it's all because of Betty's super senses.
So my advice to you, if you are a man who is married, owns a home and has a gas oven, is to immediately impregnate your wife. This is your only hope at finding out if you have a gas leak. Sure, the gas company can come over and test that out for you, but our gas company didn't find every gas leak the first time around.
Pregnancy super-senses are your only hope. So please, do it for the safety of your family. Get your wife drunk, play some Marvin Gaye, and nine months later you will have a safe and happy home, gas free.
The Existential Terror of Battle Royale
5 weeks ago