who runs this whorehouse anyway?

I did some amp mod work for a friend and he turned up with a nice little present; a Telefunken..umm… home radio(?). Roughly 2.5′w x 18″h. He said it worked wonderfully until he took out an EL84 for his amp.

Pretty cool radio. Inputs for tape and turntable, nice wood, great condition. It didn’t even get too damp when I put it in the car and left the window down 1″ and it started to pour.

I gingerly carried it in the house, balancing on top of it my (sealed) coffee, cell phone, and scanner. The pets, sensing a new box, sniffed about as I gently placed it on a chair so I could put things away.

As I turned around, the dog leaped onto another chair then I heard a CRASH. Satan (the appropriately named cat), in his zeal to figure out what it was, leaped on top of it, causing it to do a full-gainer, end-over, onto the floor. Back came off, tubes went flying. One tube had every pin bent.

I’m terrified to assess the internal damage.

After cleaning it up I sat down in the dog-vacated chair and noticed that Marshall (the dog) had consumed the greater portion of my Mexican dip.

I used to think, quite foolishly, that *I* ran the house. Now I must sadly confess that the PETS run the house.