How Not to Kill Yourself with Electricity
I see (after having my nose rubbed in it) that I have been remiss in mentioning my longest-time (but not oldest) friend, without whom this cabin, and likely myself too, would long since have ceased to exist. His name is Charlie ______ (redacted, to protect the guilty), and he is an expert in anything having to do with electricity, from laptops to ICBMs (really!). He’s also an expert auto mechanic, welder, machinist, systems engineer, and gunsmith– my kind of people. I’ve known him since kindergarten, where we were smart-ass little nerds together. He eventually got big, but neither of us really ever grew up. Don’t get me wrong; Charlie definitely has his faults. He’s terrible at tolerating bad cooking, bad service, bad advice, incompetence, ingratitude, and general stupidity. He also doesn’t do too well at obeying speed limits, but is VERY good at avoiding accidents and tickets. After Aaron, our certified, but drunken electrician, left us with a house just waiting to kill us, Charl...