Room of Horrors

"Aaaaaah, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit..."

"What happened? What did you do? Oh my god, whaaaaaat..."

I had sliced my thumb with Mark's sixteen inch long carving knife. It really wasn't that much, this time. But it was my bowling thumb and blood was already dripping on the kitchen floor.

"Come in here and help me. I need a bandage."

"Aaaah, no. I can't. You know I can't look at .... "

Mark can't even say the word blood without getting woozy. It got real quiet out in the living room and then my friend Dennis, who lives upstairs, came into the kitchen.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Mark called me. He said you needed help."

By this time I already had a bandage on my thumb and had stopped the bleeding. 

This is the problem with Mark's kitchen. It is filled with dangerous gadgets, knives, and stabby things. Things that will draw blood, which is funny because Mark cannot stand the sight of blood. He can't even look at rare steak. In one drawer in the kitchen, are all of Mark's knives. The drawer of dread. In another drawer are the shredders including something called a box shredder. It's a square shaped thing with a handle on one end and perforated sides that you use for shredding cheese, carrots, and things like that. Also great for shredding knuckles, which I do every time I use it. But the thing that I fear the most in that kitchen is called "The Mandolin". A razor sharp contraption that sits on an angle. You are supposed to take the item you want to slice, thin or thinner, and run it down the face of the thing. It terrifies me and gives me the creeps to even think of it. When Mark has that thing out I won't even go into the kitchen. I don't want to clean it, I don't want to take it out of the box it comes in. And why do they even call it a mandolin? Isn't that some kind of instrument that makes lovely music? The only music this mandolin makes is the sound of me screaming.