Vacuuming is hard

Yesterday, I took on the chore that is usually reserved for the one who spilled something on the floor, or who tracked dirt in. The chore I dislike ALMOST as much as doing dishes. I vacuumed. I dislike this chore, not because it is difficult, but because my vacuum is faulty. It smells like burning lint when it runs, it makes noises that make me wonder how long I have left before it blows up in my face, sending shards of whatever was in our carpet into my brain. So, long story short, I hate vacuuming. But I did it. I did my entire room, even making sure to get up the hay that was on the carpet due to a little pet problem. I stopped, feeling victorious, and decided to take the rest of the afternoon off, right after I put the vacuum away. I bounced up the stairs as bouncily as someone can while lugging a 60 pound hunk of heavy-duty plastic. I happily wound the cord up and set it at the top of the stairs. When I got back downstairs, I was awestruck by the mounds of dirt forming a perfect trail from where I turned off the vacuum, all the way up the stairs. There may have been cursing, and throwing of shoes involved. I trudged up the stairs and got the vacuum. I reassembled the hose and took to diligently sucking up all the dirt and lint and, yes, even hay. When I finished, I turned it off with a grunt and smiled smugly. Surely, that did it. I lifted up the vacuum, and again, dirt was clumped underneath. I screamed and beat the vacuum against the wall, flinging dirt everywhere. I came to the conclusion that it was time to take apart the trusty sucker, and find the problem. Now, I like to think I know a lot about machines. Even machines shat from the bowels of hell, like the one I was working on. But, I have never been so confused in my life. I gulped and decided to just pick around, unclogging this and that. I got a huge clump of hay out from the internal hose, after quite a struggle. I picked up the pieces I had scattered everywhere and put them back where I assumed they went. I stood up and turned on the vacuum. For a few seconds, it ran smoothly. I smiled, pleased with my work. There's nothing greater than the sense of accomplishment that comes from completing a difficult task that-oh, yeah...then I heard the snap. There was a loud pop, a grinding noise, and suddenly, a cloud of black smoke erupted from under the vacuum. I screamed, turned it off, and did a nose-dive behind the couch. As my vacuum coughed and gagged, I was in a fetal position awaiting my demise. Death by vacuum. Well, I waited what was probably 5 or 10 minutes and worked up the nerve to peek out. No more smoke, no more noises. I JUST WANTED TO VACUUM.