It is wonderful to see Tom and his stories back
on the rec. You have been missed.

Nonny wrote:
While dredging up the Haircut story, I came across another one I called
Spot's Tale. Perhaps you'll enjoy it.

Pat Barber said:

It is wonderful to see Tom and his stories back
on the rec. You have been missed.

You owe me a monitor and quite possibly a keyboard.


Greg G.

On Mon, 16 Nov 2009 12:20:24 -0600, Larry Blanchard
wrote:

They told me my thumb should start to scab over in 2 weeks. I reminded
them that I was 72 and they changed that to 3 weeks - it'll probably take
4 :-). But you're probably right about the tenderness lasting a lot
longer - a reminder not to do it again.

Some injury experiences almost have a purpose to them. Recently, while
cutting up boxes, I heard a little "snick" and jerked uncontrollably.
Turned out I'd sliced the tip of my ring finger open laterally.

Most people would go running for a tap or bandage or something to
treat it right? Not me. Since I use a wheelchair, I can't go anywhere,
not without leaving a trail of blood all over the place.

So, there I am, holding the impending geyser of a finger tightly with
a shirtsleeve and wondering what to do. Naturally, I'm all alone, so I
can't call for help. I know my white cat wouldn't appreciate red blood
all over her so she isn't going to be any help. Finally, decided that
there wasn't much else to do, so while leaking blood everywhere, I
make a mad dash for the kitchen sink. Along the way, I take out a
sizeable chunk of drywall surrounding the kitchen door. Adorned the
refrigerator door with a bloody abstract of blood as I grabbed it to
propel myself the last 8 feet and finally reach the sink. Took ten
minutes to wash all the blood off, tightly wrap the finger and bandage
anything that looked like it was bleeding.

Then I look at the carnage of blood and plaster I left in my mad dash
for the kitchen.

Ten minutes to bandage my hand.
Forty minutes to clean up splatters of blood everywhere.
Sixty minutes to plaster the drywall. Still have to sand and paint it.

I'm now the proud owner of a chain mail glove courtesy of Lee Valley
Tools. Just have to remember to use it when I'm handling something
sharp the next time.

On Mon, 16 Nov 2009 17:46:55 -0500, upscale wrote:

Ten minutes to bandage my hand.
Forty minutes to clean up splatters of blood everywhere. Sixty minutes
to plaster the drywall. Still have to sand and paint it.

I managed not to leave much blood, but I didn't have to propel a
wheelchair. Hope yours heals faster than I expect mine to.

--
Intelligence is an experiment that failed - G. B. Shaw

wrote

I'm now the proud owner of a chain mail glove courtesy of Lee Valley
Tools. Just have to remember to use it when I'm handling something
sharp the next time.

Reminds me of a little postal box accident. I have a private post office
box. I was there after hours many years ago trying to retrieve a box out of
it. The have a heavy metal lip that extends down in the front to help
prevent theft. I couldn't get the box out. I needed what was in that box.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my trusty swiss army knife. Now this
is not the monster that has twenty tools on it. It is actually the smallest
one they make. A little, tiny thing. I do keep it sharp for a box or
whatever that needs to be cut now and then. I sliced open the box and began
the slow process of squeezing the box out of too small of an opening.
Several more cuts were required. Then it happened. I sliced ME! A finger got
in the way.

Here I was in a public space, a business, about to bleed all over the place.
That would be hard to explain. I wrapped the bleeding digit in a
hankerchief. I continued wrestle the box out of the too small space.
Eventually, I got it out and got outside without bleeding on the floor. I
was outside bleeding on the sidewalk. I took off my T shirt and wrapped it
around my hand. I got home and walked into the house.

My wife was shocked to see me covered in blood. We cleaned it all up and put
a proper bandage on it. It healed up nicely. When I told the owner of the
store what happened, he said that he appreciated it that I did not bleed all
over the place.

wrote in message
...

I'm not diminishing the seriousness of a person in wheelchair who
has injured themselves. However, you could have had some fun with
it. If the horrible accident should happen again, consider leaving
the trail of blood, bashed wall and smears everwhere, and going to
a hotel for a few days. When the relative, caregiver, child,
neighbor or whoever discovers the blood and gore, the ensuing
ruckus would be entertaining until your resurface.

--
Nonny

What does it mean when drool runs
out of both sides of a drunken
Congressman's mouth?

The floor is level.

Nonny wrote:
wrote in message
...

I'm not diminishing the seriousness of a person in wheelchair who
has injured themselves. However, you could have had some fun with
it. If the horrible accident should happen again, consider leaving
the trail of blood, bashed wall and smears everwhere, and going to
a hotel for a few days. When the relative, caregiver, child,
neighbor or whoever discovers the blood and gore, the ensuing
ruckus would be entertaining until your resurface.

Don't do that. When I was in high school I came home late one night and
found the house empty and blood all over the place. This was around the
time of the Tate-LaBianca murders. I called the sheriff and about the time
he arrived my parents showed up--seems that my mother had backed a stray cat
into a corner and it panicked and tore an artery and my father had taken her
to the emergency room to get sewn up.

It may seem like a fun practical joke but scaring people in that fashion
isn't a good kind of fun.

On Mon, 16 Nov 2009 20:22:00 -0500, "Lee Michaels"
wrote:

It healed up nicely. When I told the owner of the
store what happened, he said that he appreciated it that I did not bleed all
over the place.

Businesses appreciate it when customers leave without making their
premises look like a slaughterhouse.

On Mon, 16 Nov 2009 19:28:36 -0800, "Nonny" wrote:

a hotel for a few days. When the relative, caregiver, child,
neighbor or whoever discovers the blood and gore, the ensuing
ruckus would be entertaining until your resurface.

Joking aside, that would feed the potential horror scene that every
wheelchair bound person feels at one time or another. I'm talking
about some 'know it all' person or body sweeping in and taking control
of your life because they think you're not capable of handling your
own affairs any more. It's happened several times when I've been out
in public and I hit some damned pothole the wrong way and get thrown
out of my chair. Of course, dozen's of people rally around and lift me
back into my chair. While I appreciate the help, it gives me a moment
of terror whenever I'm manhandled by two dozen people at the same
time.

I suspect it's much the same feeling that an older person gets when
everybody wants you to move to a nursing home because you're 'too old'
to look after yourself any more.

Of course, it will happen to me at some time in the future. But, I
have a solution. When the time comes and I fall out of my wheelchair
unable to get myself back in it without help, then I'm going to lay
there without calling for help. That will show them.

Damn them all.

He is the best in humor writing that I have ever
seen.

When I first saw these stories back in 1998,
I fell out of my office chair laughing.

This is the sort of thing sorely lacking in the
current membership.

Greg G. wrote:


You owe me a monitor and quite possibly a keyboard.


Greg G.

On Mon, 16 Nov 2009 23:50:42 -0500, the infamous
scrawled the following:

On Mon, 16 Nov 2009 19:28:36 -0800, "Nonny" wrote:

a hotel for a few days. When the relative, caregiver, child,
neighbor or whoever discovers the blood and gore, the ensuing
ruckus would be entertaining until your resurface.

Joking aside, that would feed the potential horror scene that every
wheelchair bound person feels at one time or another. I'm talking
about some 'know it all' person or body sweeping in and taking control
of your life because they think you're not capable of handling your
own affairs any more. It's happened several times when I've been out
in public and I hit some damned pothole the wrong way and get thrown
out of my chair. Of course, dozen's of people rally around and lift me
back into my chair. While I appreciate the help, it gives me a moment
of terror whenever I'm manhandled by two dozen people at the same
time.

I suspect it's much the same feeling that an older person gets when
everybody wants you to move to a nursing home because you're 'too old'
to look after yourself any more.

Of course, it will happen to me at some time in the future. But, I
have a solution. When the time comes and I fall out of my wheelchair
unable to get myself back in it without help, then I'm going to lay
there without calling for help. That will show them.

Damn them all.

Hey, just slide yourself thru a bandsaur like this guy did. Piece of
cake. http://fwd4.me/4j4

--
When we are planning for posterity,
we ought to remember that virtue is not hereditary.
-- Thomas Paine