Attack Of The Killer Ice Cubes

So I open the freezer door last night and just like the title says, an avalanche of murderous ice cubes launches forth in an attempt to dismember and maim.

I'm not exaggerating.

Mutant ice forms everywhere. On the floor, hanging from the shelves, stacked high in the bin. Flummoxed, I grab a handful and toss it in the sink. I do this several times. Quickly, the level in the sink rises halfway, and I haven't made a dent in the overproduction sitting inside the freezer.

I survey the situation.

My own personal icebergs dot the kitchen floor. Menacing. Potential foot slicers all.

I kick a few aside and attack the freezer again, this time with the biggest serving bowl I can find to cut down on trips to the sink. Over and over, I scoop until the metal thingy that tells the gizmo when to make ice and when to take a breather finally appears. A few more handfuls, and I'm able to release it.

I shut the door, breathing a sigh of relief. Crisis over.

Then I notice the door isn't shut all the way. I give it some hip action. It's still not shut all the way.

Turns out so much ice has fallen behind the bin, it's pushing the sucker forward. More scooping. Somehow I manage to cut my toe on a piece of ice so pointy it's like a shard of glass. Visions of the newspaper report (they found her lying in a pool of blood and a lot of frigid water) pass through my mind.

Folks, the strangest things can happen in the deceptive safety of your own home.