Oh Sweet Merciful Christ SHUT IT OFF!

I'm not a terribly domestic person. Like most statements, a lot of the actual meaning behind a statement like that depends on the precise definition applied to a single word. So 'domestic'; We've got kids, so we spend a lot of time at home, but I don't pay a lot of attention to the environment itself. Some people pride themselves on having a spotless kitchen, which is fine as long as they stay this side of OCD. I don't even really notice that I have a kitchen unless I'm hungry or it's caught fire in some small way. That's the way I'm using domestic.

Now given that I pay as much attention to household appliances as my cat does to drywall texture it might be a little surprising to hear how excited I am about a blender. Blenders are the cock-teases of the kitchen appliance world. A bold and moderately frightening statement, I know. They promise so much. They've got 30 different settings to pulverize food most of which have names that sound like sound-effects in a second rate comic book. So you buy one, or more likely get one as a wedding gift from an aunt that you forgot existed, and your happy little head is filled with visions of low-cost frappuccinos and smoothies and, if you swing that way, margaritas. Seven months later your wife has figured out that condoms aren't normally needed for most business meetings and you've been given 12 hours to clear your stuff out from the house. You find the forgotten box behind the also unused punch bowl, and you decide to give the thing, no pun intended, a whirl.

This is a spur of the moment thing, so you don't actually have all the ingredients for a smoothy, but hell, you're bored and hungry, so good judgment be damned, the apple sauce is going in there. You throw in whatever fruit you've got and ice that's been in the freezer trays for nine years. Since you really only want a drink for yourself you end up using about a 17th of the capacity of the damn thing, but hey, you're still craving the fruity goodness of a smoothy so you bravely continue on. You fire up the beast, put it on frappe or fricassee or whatever the hell the middle option is and watch the ice cubes bounce around for a few minutes while the rest of the mixture turns a color you wouldn't think possible from fruit.

Now you're thinking, well that's the hard part right? Wrong. Trying to pour that lumpy sludge into your cup is one of the most surprisingly frustrating things you've ever tried to accomplish. Only about a quarter of the stuff actually pours into the cup easily. You manage to scrape out another quarter before learning one of the fundamental truths about blenders, you can't get a god damn thing out of a fucking blender. Half of your already small portion has chemically bonded with your blender. Remember those commercials where they superglued a hard hat to a beam and then hung some dumb son of a bitch over certain death. That's what your smoothy is doing in the blender, only it's not kicking and wetting itself like the dumbass in the commercials, no, your smoothy is making rude comments and using surprisingly inventive hand gestures to communicate unflattering facts about your genitalia.

Wisely, you give up and try to drink the portion that you've gotten out. I say 'try' because that's precisely what you're doing. The ice is still in chunks that are the perfect size to block the straw and you keep running into chunks of half-frozen bananas, which is odd, because you didn't actually have bananas in the blender. So, now you're still hungry, you've eaten some chunks of unknown things, and you've got an hour less to move the contents of your life to your mother's basement.

...oh but now you've got the clean up the blender. You poor bastard.

How in the holy hell are you supposed to clean out something that's a funnel shaped container with blades at the bottom. Cleaning a blender is like trying to give a suppository to a cat. Neither of you really want to do the task, someone's going to get scratched up, and the job's going to be half done at best.

Obviously I have issues with blenders that, are, frankly, a little surprising even to me. So when a friend recommended a thing called a 'magic bullet' to me I was resistant. Well, first I kind of thought it was a sex-toy and I was a little confused about his motives. Flattered, but confused.

He explained that a magic bullet was, in fact, a blender. It's a fundamentally redesigned one though. Really, they took all the evil and hateful problems right out of a blender. It's like they took Satan, and got rid of the all the goat killing and fire and stuff, and just left a guy who really throws kick ass parties.

Just go buy one.

Now a word of warning to consumers on both sides of the perversion aisle. The 'magic bullet', as you might expect, really is the name of a sex-toy too. So I just want you to be sure which one you're ordering. The little sex-toy wouldn't make a good smoothy, and while the blender could probably be converted to a sex-toy somehow I really wouldn't recommend that unless you consulted with a certified and bonded electrician and follow proper safety guidelines.... and pick an easily remembered and pronounced safe word.