May 29, 2026: a handyman history catches up with him
It began like so many Little Andy projects: with confidence, no written plan, and a tool bag containing four flathead screwdrivers but absolutely no flathead screws. At approximately 1:45 a.m., after years of mounting shelves “by feel,” wiring fixtures “the old-fashioned way,” and using a barstool as an OSHA-approved ladder, fate finally turned the chuck key. Friends say he arrived wearing a tool belt, a tank top, and the expression of a man who had already told three people, “Don't worry—I've done this drunker.”
Witnesses report he was attempting the delicate separation of a tea and lemonade union when the beverage fought back. One careless clockwise motion met a stubborn counterclockwise cap. There was a hiss. There was citrus. Someone yelled, “That's not a load-bearing koozie!” Andy replied that anything could be load-bearing with enough caulk, then made prolonged eye contact with the bartender.
By sunrise, the diagnosis was clear: Andy's Teas had twisted. The half was no longer distinguishable from the other half. Every level showed a slight lean toward the cooler. Even his cordless drill began making a concerned clicking sound. When asked if he was licensed and bonded, Andy reportedly said he was “more of a situationship.”
He has bravely carried on, but daily life is difficult. He cannot pass a home-improvement aisle without offering a second opinion. He cannot see iced tea and lemonade together without whispering, “Not again.” And he still insists the deck is supposed to move like that. His stud finder remains in quarantine after repeatedly going off whenever he points it at himself.
