cast iron

Anyway, one thing lead to another, and we decided since we took the walls down, we might as well move the bathroom to the girls' room, the laundry to the bathroom, and the girls to a closet. In the meantime, we got a hold of a cast iron pipe and said to each other, "That's not modern. That's not modern at all."

We didn’t get pictures of the demolition, but you can imagine me with a BFH* and these enormous writerly hands pounding away on four-inch cast iron plumbing – truly a thing of beauty.

(BFH: Big Fill-in-the-_____ing Hammer)
After wailing away on the pipe for thirty, forty minutes with little progress, I pulled the old it-sure-is-fun-to-smash-cast-iron routine on Sam.

This is what he did to it:

Look ye mighty upon Sam's cast iron and beware. All that's from the second floor. We gutted the pipe from the basement through the roof -- it was quite a time.

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