My Testimony of 1/11/08
During the last seven days, numerous reports of my activities regarding Friday evening are being blown out of proportion, and in some cases completely inaccurate. So I’d like to take this opportunity set the records straight.
It was a brisk January afternoon deep in the Oneota Valley. There was a certain cheer in the air that Friday afternoon. I had just finished a busy afternoon laced with arts and crafts and charitable work with the local community. I was quite taxed at this point. Nonetheless, it was a special weekend. Some Nordics refer to this Luther College tradition as “marathon weekend.” A weekend where many coeds take advantage of light class loads and “loose” women.
Me? I’m a straight-laced guy. I try to avoid the spotlight full of alcohol, drugs, violence, and unintentional impregnation. So marathon weekend traditions don’t usually find their way into my winter’s activities. But with a group of hooligans I call “friends,” I can’t help but be surrounded by these immature activities. As a good friend I decided to partake in some of their normal Friday evening activities in Oslo 2. So we had a couple of draught beers, played ping pong, sang songs, and even played a game of cards!
Unfortunately, I encountered some mild food poisoning that evening, and had to be rushed out the front door of Oslo 2. After I had purged my stomach of its disagreeable content, I was feeling much superior than 15 minutes prior. Naturally, I announced to my associates that I was indeed OK, and that there was no need to worry about me. (They’re a buncha worriers!)
A few moments later, a beastly man with a beard emerged through the front door. Normally, I don’t like to judge a book by it’s cover, but there was just something about a man who photographs high school girls basketball as part of an “internship” and refers to himself as “Face”—something I couldn’t trust.
I was right. The man—if you wanna grant him that—was boisterous, offensive, and disgustingly un-chivalrous. The rest of the group was far from impressed. As an upstanding citizen, I decided to take the matter into my own hands.
I’ve always thought of myself as somewhat of a movie buff. In fact, I take a lot of the morals and lessons, and let them mold my personality into the greatness that I am today.
When a movie buff finds a shovel, however, they utilize all of those take-home values from the Christmas-saga Home Alone and rise to heroic levels. We all remember the scary next-door neighbor in the movie. At the very end, he supports his menace of a neighbor and hits the would-be thieves over the head with a shovel when they least expected it—just in time to save the day.
Shovel in-hand, I was ready to size up my target. The bastardly hairy man was about to make his exit from the building. This was my big opportunity. Some would see it as a cheap shot, but I took my swing—not full force—and blind sided him on the back of his head.
It may strike some as a childish choice of combat, but it was what needed to be done.
The look on his face was as shocked as someone who bit in to a sauceless boneless hot wing at KFC. From that point on it was clear his nerves would require revenge. Common sense told me to run as fast as I could, and seek asylum from this unreasonable creature. I waited until calmness finally returned to Andy Thrillhelm’s brave young soul, and knew it was then safe to return to the not-so-friendly confines of Oslo 2.
The cat and mouse was not over, much to my dismay. Standing in the living room, I could see the bastard’s eyes peering through the window shades, breathing heavy, fogging up the window from outside, and that very same shovel in his hand. He clearly was waiting for my inevitable exit from the building.
According to the late Bru, “Face” had been planning a javelin-toss of the shovel at my large, muscular frame. I knew I had to go out there, and do what needed to be done—kill ‘em with kindness. I stuck my head out the door, and he was ready. He was ready moments before I emerged, and was already mid-throw by the time I emerged. Luckily for me, my cat-like reflexes out-maneuvered this blind bullet.
Yes. A blind bullet. One that struck an on-looking, innocent bystander, Bru. The shovel plunged into his palm, and cut his hand open; requiring stitches for a wound that will leave a physical scarring, and undoubtedly emotional distress for years to come.
In this moment of wild pandemonium, I immediately started handing out my most expert medical advice. Many of the females on hand were impressed to measures of offering me explicit sexual acts of kindness. But I knew that we had a wounded soldier who required urgent care. No time for such glory.
After receiving professional help, I nursed young Bru back to life. Feeding, massaging, and offering my deepest condolences for his shaken and stitched-up mental well-being.
That is all I know, officer. I trust that you will make the proper charges, and put this sick man away. Oh! And I heard that this javelin-gifted athlete is wanted in Nevada for banging horses. Have a nice weekend. Thanks!
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3 comments:
I enjoy your use of —'s.
Wow. Just...... wow.
However, I saw no mention of a CT scan in there.
As a man who was in the vicinty of this travesty, (albeit not conscious at the time... or was I? either way not fully aware) I do know a few things, 1. The Bearded Menace is a bastard who doesn't know who his real father is, and has been throwing shovels all over town like a pygmy passes bad checks. 2. CT scan or not, upon further inquiries to people who are proficient in medical knowledge, the Doctor when confronted with a hand injury would treat it and ordinarily then refer the injured person to a hand surgeon, it is not uncommon for the hand surgeon to then CT scan the hand. So Taye was not entirely off the mark by saying that CT scans were possible in this situation. 3. this is a far too overly long comment, and perhaps if i had just fleshed out some ideas it would have stood alone as a blog in its own right.
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