T.B. Sheets

The Audiophile's flirtation with death continues, but that did not deter him from hauling a crate from the basement to the SUV. One minute he was shivering under a pile of blankets with vowel sounds as his only means of communication, and the next he was heaving his end of the crate up the stairs without regard to his spleen or mine.

This crate was particularly heavy. So heavy, in fact, that it caused me to think 666 evil thoughts as we inched it up the stairs and out the door. That I only verbalized four of these thoughts is a God-blessed miracle. If you have ever wondered who invented particleboard, the answer is: Satan, SATAN, I tell you.

The Audiophile and his dread disease then left for a few days on a business trip, which was excellent timing because it took me 48 hours to take the remaining 662 evil thoughts captive. All I know is the next time I say, "For better or for worse," I'm reading the small print in the contract so I know what the "worse" piece of that equation will entail.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.