Prologue
It seems everybody that pulls an intervention on me accuses me of not listening. Not true!
I remember some conversations with my Mom, here are a couple when I was five or six;
“You need to be home by midnight or I am going to tell your father!” Or;
“What ever possessed you to pull a stunt like that?” (I hated the word “stunt”–there was so much spittle at her volume–I preferred “spontaneous acts of irresponsibility” even though it caused a bit more spittle, it was face saving in a strange sort of way.)
There were a couple maternal threats about fire starting, hygiene, and fratricide (I was the oldest…) but the one line that looks like it may come true (and the theme of this post);
“If you continue to hang out with the wrong crowd, you are going to end up in prison, just like….”
“Like who?” I asked.
“Nevermind.” she replied.
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Last Monday (seven days ago) I hung out with one of the worst crowds known to undercooked poultry–ended up in the hospital and somebody is going to pay–I suggest you pay attention because I am serious. And I am not talking lawyers here…
Over the past week I have watched every Charles Bronson movie, every Steven Segal movie, and have a new life long idol: Buford Pusser–how could I not? As one skilled in the art of woodworking, his skills are obvious and enviable (I wish he would he would have left plans for his stick);
The crowd? Here’s a pic;
Salmonella–a bad crowd for sure–trust me. (Note: The fat bastard towards the upper right-hand corner is the leader.)
Before the hospital visit, the Emergency Response Team from my local fire department paid me a visit. They all looked like a bunch of 6’4″ flat-bellied actors in rubber gloves playing fire department guys. My wife was VERY impressed–offered to cook them a Thanksgiving dinner on the spot if they would stay.
They asked me a bunch of questions that were hard to comprehend while in the curly fry position. I passed on the ambulance ride and fifteen minutes later found myself in the hospital–man those lights were bright.
Never saw my doctor–eyes hurt from the light but I do remember her asking me;
“John, can you provide us a stool sample?”
“What? How am I supposed to that?” I painfully moaned.
“I am going to give you a cup and you need to hold it to catch the sample–I know it sounds gross–can you do that?”
“Gross? You got to be kidding me. Next time you are at home watching the NatGeo special on killer volcanoes on your HDTV, flip the screen upside down and imagine holding a cup under one of those volcanoes–ain’t gonna happen. Just treat me for everything that kills humans–I have insurance with a high deductible.” I remember thinking.
The next four days were not fun. Typically when I am sick, I turn on Jerry Springer and am cured instantly but not this time–this was bad–I had to man-up and assume the killer volcano curly fry position for four straight days. Did I mention that I was shaking like a paint mixer the whole time?
I knew I was getting better when revenge entered my consciousness and I discovered Buford.
These movies were all the training I needed or wanted, but I didn’t know if I had it in me to kill. I do–can’t wait actually. And I don’t care if this blog entry incriminates me, prison is a Cabos San Lucas timeshare compared to what I survived (turned out to be a killer version of Salmonella but luckily I owe so many people money that my will to live is off the charts–isn’t that awesome?)
When you decide to become a killer like me, you have to plan carefully–unlike woodworking. You have to carefully decide who the victim will be and PLAN for their demise. You can’t just blast 400-500 people off the planet in hopes of being successful. PLAN. And I do have a plan. And I definitely have a victim (“assignment” to those of us in the know…).
Thanks to Bufford Pusser, I will not rest–maybe not blog again–until I find the guy that invented single ply toilet paper–you have my word he will be fatally harmed in the messiest possible way.
–John
Oh John, I feel your pain. A long time ago in a land far away, I fell under the spell of some undercooked or spoiled ???? To compound the problem, I was a long way from home courtesy of Uncle Sam’s Air Force. Whatever it was that I consumed was consumed at lunch in Turkey. I felt fine at the stopover in Athens, not quite so good in Pisa, and by the time we were approaching Frankfurt, I was truly thankful that their was a well-qualified copilot in the right seat of the C-141. I made several trips to the back, ran back to the pilot seat, landed the airplane, turned off the runway on to the taxiway and ran back to the head. When the airplane didn’t move, the Frankfurt tower controller, who was not known for their patience, called us and wanted to know why we weren’t moving. (No pun intended here.) About mid-sentence, the tower ground controller saw that we had originated in Turkey and replied, “Oh, now I see why you’re still sitting there, Just let us know when you can taxi to your parking spot, if you can!”
I didn’t spend any time in the hospital, but did become very familiar with the very cold floor in the bathroom on several occasions for the next few days.
Cheers,
Wayne
So I’m assuming that the DJ-1 and perhaps some other BCTW tools will be involved in the perpetration of the crime? I mean, if you’re going to advertise on the web, you may as well make it really obvious who did it.
How about using the FC-1 flushing chisel for death by 1000 cuts, before testing the DJ-1 as a lobotomy tool? Or see whether a shoulder plane really can? (Plane a shoulder, I mean.)
And as an aside: I will do my best to ensure that I never serve you undercooked food!
– Peter
Single Ply TP is evil. I will fix it.
It will by nice to see my name alongside the likes of Freddie Kruger and Jason. I am no stranger to hockey masks either.
-John
You are quite right about single-ply TP, John. And I’m sorry that you had to experience it. Wash your hands.
On the other hand, you may not have had the pleasure of waxed, single-ply TP. When I was a kid I lived in England for a few years. Their TP – I kid you not – was basically waxed paper. Waxed paper! Imagine. Non-absorbent. Slippery. Makes very sharp corners when it folds. Did I mention non-absorbent? Aluminum foil would have worked just as well.
Ouch.
Fortunately, the person who invented that is probably no longer whinnying with us. The bastard.
– Peter
Time to get this thread back onto woodworking–everybody go make a Buford Pusser stick and walk tall.
–John
John,
I will get right on my Buford Pusser stick but in the meantime let me also pass on my sorrow at what you went through and only will add that I once had a similar situation. I also feel that whomever cooked? what you ate should not be killed but fed what they cooked and then tortured at the same time. Killing is too quick.:o
Fred