It seems something doesn't want me to shave ever again. First my electric razor was destroyed by careless baggage handlers on the way to Seattle. Now the crappy electric trimmer I have at home literally shorted out in my hand filling the bathroom with sparks, smoke and the smell of burning Jose. What have I done to anger the facial follicle gods?

Check out what it did to my hand. The goldish spot is molten copper, ouch.


I also learned that the GFIC in the bathroom upstairs is a piece of junk and doesn't work safely.