We got this big-ass, arcing floor lamp years ago. Weighs a ton, costs a ton, that sorta thing. A couple weeks ago I used it to test whether another lamp's bulb was working, and the dealie – the housing, the goddamn whatchamacallit – goes right on ahead and snaps off in my goddamn hand. Like, right the hell off. And this thing, this fucking thing, it's just the flimsy aluminum doodad the bulb twists into, but it's like it's the fucking nexus of a whole goddamn million-dollar lamp. It's as if the International Fucking Space Station was held together by a goddamn 25-cent screw. Nothing functions without it. And so this doohickey, this thing in my hand, has a cracked hole-punched jobbie with a twisted little pellet-esque whatever missing. The socket – I know this word, at least – holds this fucking tinfoil housing with these custom pellet doo-bobs. Not screws – that would make too much sense. Not an adhesive. Not by twisting or clicking Part A and Part B together. No. It has to be a complete and total fucking jerk about what it's been put on Earth to do. Now we stand around like idiots in the dark because this bumblefuck whatzit refuses to be a sensible and inspired piece of engineering. A goddamn bulb-holding, tin-scrap, ass-faced… whatchamacallit… standing between us and a sufficiently-lit living room.