To the Kenmore dishwasher packaging guy, with love from Burbanked.

I recently purchased a brand new Kenmore dishwasher. I was extremely pleased and excited by the acquisition of this spiffy and sparkling stainless steel appliance and the wondrous sheen of protective blue plastic that covered it, ostensibly to protect it from nicks, scratches or dents.

Then I attempted to remove the blue plastic, and believe me when I tell you that I would like to send a special wish out to the guy who came up with the idea to package Kenmore dishwashers with this seemingly benign blue plastic covering: and that is that I would like that person to die.

I would like that person to be stabbed with a butcher’s knife wielded by Joe Pesci and bleed horribly to death in the trunk of a late-model Cadillac. I would like that person to be a young girl and be blown to bits when a white-suited hitman leaves his briefcase in a small cafe where the owner refuses to pay protection money to the mob. I would like that person to be ignominiously machine-gunned just as they were stepping out of the can to be surprised by the prideful boxer whom they’ve been sent to assassinate. I would like to see this person with an alien facehugger on their head, and then I would leave them alone, oh, for a day or so and then return and have a delightful lunch with this person, and then all of a sudden - oooh! - perhaps that’s indigestion but oh no it’s not indigestion, it’s an evil mothereffing alien inside your chest struggling to get out and now gosh but those are your guts all spilling down your front sorry about that.

And I removed all of that hellspawn blue plastic from my nice new dishwasher, but still there are little tiny bits of it around the edges where my sore and not-shaped-like-razor-blades fingers couldn’t quite tear off the little bits of blue plastic. And in the next few days when a handful of fine construction men who have not at all earned my wrath have installed my nice new dishwasher, I’ll walk past it in my nice new kitchen, but I will feel no glee or happiness or forgiveness in my heart.

No, because all I will see, though surrounded by beauty and joy and dazzlingly clean dishes, all I will see are THOSE LITTLE FRIGGING BITS OF BLUE PLASTIC THAT WOULD NOT COME OFF.

So maybe that person who wrapped my dishwasher in the blue plastic will happen to be a prison guard when a celebrated cannibal/serial killer is transferred into a massive indoor cage and perhaps that guard will be on the unfortunate end of a lethal face-skinning incident. Or one could hope that the Kenmore packaging guy also happens to be the rather dickheaded foster parent of a young boy who is humanity’s only hope when the cyborgs take over and he gets a big surprise when he’s drinking milk out of the carton and his wife turns out to be not at all who he thought she was. Or I suppose it’s possible that this person could just be falling asleep at night with headphones on and a TV in their lap and then all of a sudden some gnarly hell-spawn burned-up dude comes up from beneath the bed and goes all stabby-stabby with his custom-made knife hands and then drags the Kenmore dishwasher packaging guy down into his bed just as an unlikely huge geyser of blood shoots up everywhere and I guess your fancy dishwasher can’t really clean THAT, now can it Mr. Smarty Dead Blood Volcano Pants?

I want Pazuzu to take him. I want his head in a box. I want Magua to eat his heart. He should be chomped by a shark or a dinosaur or a huge ape. He should be knifed in a rumble or drowned while surfing or stabbed in the ear or beaten dead by a Russian or chainsawed by a Cuban or choked by an amnesiac operative or burned or bludgeoned or shot or dropped or run over or squooshed or eviscerated or garroted or flattened or split or woodchipped -

But anyway, I got a new dishwasher.