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You sound like a working class chump. I bet you thought it would be a great "investment", how you would wake up to a warm, healthy breakfast to start off your long day. Maybe, you even had a couple thoughts about all the other nifty little uses you could find for the thing, how it would help you cook healthier meals in general, shed a couple pounds off the old gut, boost your confidence around work and with the ladies. Yeah, maybe that crockpot would start your life cooking again, wouldn't it? I can see your strained hands holding the box and reading through it carefully at the store. A little bit pricey, but you're the type of guy who thinks everything is more than you can spend, aren't you. And look what happened to you. Look what the crockpot did to you. Fucked you over, and made you clean it like a useless bitch. You don't even fucking like oatmeal. Piece of shit, you've been repeating those three words your whole life, haven't you. Yeah, how was work after that piece of shit fucked you over? I bet it was on your mind the whole day, you probably didn't say shit to nobody. Can't be telling people about your mistakes. How your little fix yourself plan, failed you. Don't want people to start thinking you're the failure. You're the piece of shit, all along. You don't want that do you? You don't want to be the piece of shit everybody secretly whispers about, do you? Was your father a piece of shit like you? I bet he never had a slow cooker. He had a woman, a house, a damn good job. I bet it's slow cooking you the fuck alive, isn't it. Comparing yourself to him. How one day when all the steam runs out of your life, you'll discover how you're nothing more than burnt shit to be scrapped off and thrown in the trash.
