You know what else pisses me off? When people have a well-rehearsed inventory of medical procedures they’ve undergone, as a result of some sort of catastrophic injury, or whatever. They always recite it expertly, thanks to years of honing via repetition, and it’s usually filled with lots of dramatic and arcane asides.
It generally goes something like this (in a nonchalant no-big-deal voice):
“I’d been driving for thirty hours straight, trying to get back home before my Nanna Beaverpelt died, and I fell asleep outside of Ass, Tennessee. The cops said I must’ve been traveling at eighty mph when I crashed through the guard rail, and my car rocketed off a small hill and rolled fifty yards. They said if I’d gone through twenty feet earlier or twenty feet later, I would’ve died instantly.
“They airlifted me to a trauma center in Rotten Jaw, and I had three surgeries during the first 24 hours. During the first operation I died on the table twice, and the doctor was across the room signing the death certificate after the second flat-line, when my heart suddenly started beating again. Later he told me that in thirty years of practicing medicine he’d never seen anything quite like it.
“They had to completely rebuild my torso, and I have the equivalent of half a Ford Taurus in my left leg; that’s how much metal is in there. I have seven rivets here, two titanium rods here, a network of lines and pulleys in my pelvis, my spine is made entirely of tempered glass, I can’t lift my left arm any higher than this, and because of all the skin grafts I now have armpit hair growing on my forearm.”
After it finally ends, there’s always an extended pause where everybody is supposed to react with horror and amazement. But, of course, I refuse. And then I start calling him Seven Rivets behind his back…
I think it’s the nonchalant part that bothers me. Ya know? If they told the same story, but approached it from a “that shit was scary” perspective, it would probably be OK. But that super-casual, no-big-deal affectation bugs me. So, they’ll get nothing from me, dammit.
A few days ago I was on my way to work, and raided my lunch bag again while driving. Hey, a person needs to maintain his energy level… I grabbed a granola bar, and was munching it while navigating I-81, aka The Devil’s Parkway.
And there’s a commercial on the radio where two people are talking about going on a cruise. Who the hell knows? I barely listen. But I think they’re the hosts of the morning show, and are offering some kind of Caribbean cruise, where listeners can join them, or somesuch.
Anyway, the woman is listing all the ports of call, and does that really pretentious thing where a person rolls their Rs. You know, to sound sophisticated ‘n’ shit? And when she says “Peurrrrto Rico,” I always imitate her, involuntarily. I have no control over any of this, I just instantly say the same words, in the same way.
And when I did this over the weekend, a hunk of granola bar, or possibly a chocolate chip, went blasting into my sinuses. I started hacking and coughing and snorting and blowing, and probably could’ve ended up with a spine made of tempered glass.
But I was able to maintain, thank you very much. Even with a raisin behind my eyes… But I should probably keep my hand out of the lunch bag, shouldn’t I?
And speaking of that, I’m going to meet Toney for lunch. So I need to cut this one a little short. I’ll leave you now with a Question suggested by my brother. I don’t think we’ve done this before, and I find it amazing.
In the comments section, please tell us which famous people you predict will die in 2011. You know, the standard dead pool… I’ve got nothing prepared, but have a feeling you guys will come up with some interesting names.
And in a year we can go back, and see who had the most number of correct guesses. I suppose there should be a maximum number of names allowed? How about no more than five per person? Then we’ll review it all next December.
However, I hope to be back earlier than that. Like tomorrow, in fact. So, I’ll see you guys then.
Have a great day!
Paul Simon or Art Garfunkle
The Queen of England
All right, I’ll take a stab at it. And I’m sticking to the Entertainment and Sports fields.
and Ben Roethlisberger, because he always follows up Stupid with More Stupid.
I’d say Lindsay Lohan or Amy Winehouse, but those bitches just keep on surprising me.
Grace Slick may be a good bet. She’s not looking too good these days.
Casey J says
Sylvester Stallone(plastic surgery mishap)
I just probably doomed myself. The Big Man is watching and tsk tsking me, I am sure.
WB in OH says
I think 2011 will be the year the “big one” hits SoCal, so the dead celebrity list will be massive. Lindsey Lohan will be in county lock up and will be one of the few to survive.
Good Morning Surf Reporters…..
A lot of you guys said “Dick Clark” – anyone going to watch and cringe on New Years?
I’m not sure I can bring myself to do that again. It’s just too damned sad, and I think I’ve used up my life’s allotment of cringing while watching him in the past.
Joe Paterno…post Outback Bowl
Merry Christmas everyone!
or your respective celebration!
The Evil Twin says
I’m Agnostic, but during the Christmas season I often make a point to greet strangers with “Happy Birthday of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ!” just to piss off the PC nazis…
It’s not gonna happen today, my friends. I’ll try to post an update when I get home from work tonight, but I won’t be able to finish one before I leave.
So, just keep on truckin’ with this tasteless and morbid exercise…
Lee Harvey Ramone says
I predict that the singer Charlene will go on to her heavenly reward in 2011
Al Molinaro (Happy Days Al)
Olivia De Havilland
And one wild card unexpected demise: Dog the Bounty Hunter
LMAO Dog the Bounty Hunter, yeah I guess I can see that happening.
People that are going to die in 2011
Rev Billy Graham
WB in OH says
See you fools Monday! Have a great Christmas if that’s your thing, or a great thing if not.
In trying to figure a way to keep the catchy phrase, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”, in the public eye, no deaths will be reported in 2011. After careful study, it was determined that most peolpe forget rather quickly who died. They also have trouble remembering if someone has died or not. An overwelming majority was found to rather not know if someone is dead because it would not change the way they feel about them. Others reflected similar views while saying,”Hey…if they’re dead…it’s their own business. I don’t need to know.”
I have now made it safely to the other side of the state. Along the way I saw some Mennonites driving a Mercedes Benz. A Benz. Really? Somehow that seems to conflict with a rejection of the ostentatious. Perhaps they have formed yet a new sect: “Benzonites”.
Anyhoodle, this just came across the wire:
So there’s something else George Bush the Elder can add to his Ridiculous Shit that Goes Down Around Me list:
“Two days before Christmas 2010, and a Plymouth Barracuda is firmly wedged in my petunias.”
Show of hands, how many people think a can of Blatz Beer is jammed under the Barracuda’s gas pedal?
Or rather brake pedal. Dammit!
I was blissfully unaware they still made the Plymouth Barracuda. Come to think about it, I was unaware that Plymouth still exists as a company, much less a company which manufactures cars that fly onto the lawns of former presidents who are fond of land wars in Asia.
Dunno if it’s still made or if the gearhead restored one, all I know is I’ve had Heart’s “Barracuda” stuck in my head for an hour now, alongside a mental image of Barbara Bush the Elder trying to “rock out with your cock out” (as the kids say). Emphasis on “trying”. Ow, I think I got hit with a metaphysical pearl.
Note: Long drives make me loopy, not political. Nothing in the prior posts should be taken as political commentary. Nothing by me, anyway.
Some Guy on the Innernets says
Oh great. Thanks. Just what I needed, a Heart song stuck in my head. I might have made it to sleep for the night without thinking of that…
btw, I think your beer bottle theory has merit. Wonder if we will ever learn more about the incident. Hmmm.
Some Guy on the Innernets says
I think a few of the Barracudas from the Sixties and Seventies have survived and are still somewhat serviceable. That might be what landed on the Bush lawn. Maybe the owner got a good deal on some barely used Toyota floor mats or something.
Aw CRAP, another error of loopy-ness! It was W not the Elder. W probably would have thought it was cool like Dukes of Hazzard and asked to take a spin. That wrecks the Barbara Bush joke too. Man, I’m tanking tonight!
I’m going to bed.
I don’t know which is more disturbing about the further evidence: The “Customers Who Bought Related Items Also Bought” list, or the eight pound shipping weight of the balls. In any case, the item review squibs are pretty funny.
“the see-thru apparently tapped into some inner soy reserve, and bounced-back from his typhoid”
we all have blessings to count.
In an unrelated story in 2012- the budget is balanced, unemployment is cut by two-thirds and the national debt is on its way back down.
Zsa Zsa Gabor