Steve stared at the dripping faucet, its slow drip-drip-drip echoing like a taunt. He’d bought a ‘lifetime warranty’ plunger, but now it looked like a used snorkel. With a grunt, he plunged it into the sink, only to have water explosion upward, soaking his shirt. ‘Okay,’ he muttered, ‘new plan.’ He grabbed a wrench, but the pipe hissed like a angry cat. Then, a voice: ‘STOP.’ Steve froze. The faucet was speaking? ‘You’re disturbing my meditation,’ it said. ‘I’m a zen master now.’ Steve blinked. ‘You’re a… faucet?’ ‘And you’re a menace,’ it hissed. Suddenly, water sprayed sideways, dousing the kitchen floor. Steve slipped, landing in a puddle, surrounded by floating dish soap bubbles. The faucet dripped once, satisfied. ‘Peace out,’ it said. Steve stared at the ceiling, wondering if he’d lost his mind—or if the plumbing had gained one.’,
