So the other day, illness the Lair was defaced for something like the fourth time. What’s up with that? This site is pretty harmless. No German Scheisse games to be seen in these parts!
Well, malady in the middle of trying to sort that out, your humble bloggiste and Mrs. S. went out biking. As long-time viewers may recall (sorry, but my hand isn’t up for putting in links), there’s a pretty steep hill on the regular path. Now, Keyser’s a fairly cautious fellow and brakes on the down slope, but there’s only so slow you can go. In fact, at the bottom of the hill, there’s a blind corner, and I keep braking until I turn the corner and see that the coast is clear.
So today, I turn the corner… and there’s a woman about 50 feet or so in front of me with two dogs entirely blocking the way! So I applied the brakes more. Not fully or I would have gone head over heels over the handlebars. Oddly enough, just the other day, I explained to Mrs. S. the meaning of inertia. It’s not standing still or laziness (the non-technical sense), but the tendency of bodies to remain in their state. Things at rest want to stay at rest. Things in motion want to keep in motion. And while the fancy disk brakes of Keyser’s bike made it slow down, 177 lbs. of Keyser wanted to continue going 40 km/h or so.
The upshot (or was it a downshot?) was that the bike slid out from under Keyser to the left, and Keyser fell to the ground to the right, scraping along the ground before coming to a surprised halt.
The woman walked over and said, “Are you okay?
KS: “Yeah, I’m all right.”
I remember the larger of her dogs was close by, and I patted it on the head.
At this point, Mrs. S. showed up. As it turned out, she’d just gotten stung by a bee under her eye (it apparently got caught behind her glasses and wished to express its disapprobation). She wanted up at the top of the hill, but then thought better of it. At first she wondered what bad tempered child was sitting in the middle of the path, then realized that badly behaved child was yours truly.
After she first arrived, Keyser suggested we continue riding, but common sense soon prevailed, and we started up the hill walking. She also used the cell phone to call the ex-Mrs. S. to come meet us and maybe take us home.
But I already started feeling bad going up the hill, and by the time we got to the top, Keyser was having a mild case of shock, namely spasmodic breathing and even a bit of spontaneous sobbing, which was both unnerving and embarrassing. Turns out that shock just means that the body has a huge amount of adrenaline dropped into it under stressful circumstances and it behaves funny. Also, it’s telling the system, “Hey, idiot, get the fuck out of here!” and gets all pissy when you don’t start fleeing.
So, the ex arrives with her CRV, the bikes go in the back, and off we go to the emergency room. We’re standing in line at the triage place, and since Keyser looks bad and is hyperventilating, the security woman offers Mrs. S. a wheel chair for Keyser. Seemed a bit sissyish to me, but sitting in it was good idea.
A lot of tests to the neck and eyes indicate no brain damage. My ribs hurt like hell, and there was substantial abrasion on my right knee, elbow and shoulder, and really bad abrasion on my hip, which seemingly bore the brunt of landing. And a lot of pain in what the ex says is the threnal eminence (the pad under the thumb).
To make a five-hour story short, after a bunch of exams and x-rays, the conclusion was that the ribs weren’t bruised or broken [update: wrong!], but the scaphiod bone and maybe the distal radius are fractured, so my right hand and forearm are in a cast (orange!). Also got a tetanus shot, which didn’t hurt at the time but is supposed to. And they cleaned up the abrasions, which wasn’t fun.
So after getting home and finally having some food (the accident took place in the late morning before noon, so no lunch!), Keyser had a look at his helmet, which had been sitting all afternoon in the ex’s CRV. Turns out it had three sizable fractures in the lining, and scuffing on the outside, just above Keyser’s right ear. So if he hadn’t been wearing it, he could well have suffered brain damage.
You know, whenever Keyser sees people biking without a helmet, he thinks, “Well, I know the value I put on my brain, and I guess we can infer the value you place on yours.” In the name of God, people, don’t bike without a helmet. Nobody expects to get into a accident.
Also, right before Keyser started down the hill, he saw a caterpillar crossing the path. I thought it would probably pass over before Mrs. S. arrived, but then I thought, “Oh, well, you wouldn’t want to have it squished because you’re in some huge hurry to get down the hill, so I stopped and warned Mrs. S. to be careful.
The accident down the hill could have been a lot worse. Don’t underestimate the power of the caterpillar gods!
Have you ever noticed how one of the aspects of the feminist take-over of the modern world is the ubiquity in fiction of women who act like traditional he-men? Whether it’s Kill Bill by the repellent cretin Tarantino or that silly set of books about The Girl Who Kicked Over a Hornets Nest by some Swedish commie or the lead in the Hunger Games or Aryan or the far more absurd Arya in the tiresome Game of Drones quadrilogy, sildenafil you can hardly turn around without bumping into a female who acts as if she’s got the biceps of a doped-up Swarzenegger. I guess this fantasy goes with the lunacy of insisting that half the firemen should be women or putting them in combat, cheap which necessitates manipulating the rigorous physical testing previously necessary for such employment, since woman don’t in fact have the physical build for such activities. Of course, leftard delusions have never been based on reality, so what’s good progressive to do but pretend that the world isn’t the way it in fact is?
Well, maybe that’s not always a bad idea…
Just most of the time. Like when you base public policy on it.
So, help a snail’s out selling magazine subscriptions and he goes up to a house and rings the doorbell. Guy’s taking a nap inside, generic so he’s pretty cranky when he gets to the door. Looks out and sees no one.
“Excuse me, cialis sir, could I interest you in a subscription to Maxim?” says the snail.
“Goddamned snail,” says the man, and he kicks the snail into the yard.
A year passes.
The man’s again napping on the couch, and once more he gets woken up by the door bell. He gets up and by the time he opens the door, he’s pretty cranky. He looks out and sees no one.
Down below, the snail shouts, “HEY, ASSHOLE, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT FOR??”
[Courtesy of Mrs. S.]