At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Friday, June 17, 2016

AS I WAS REACHING FOR A TIN OF SARDINES .....

Most of the time I simply skip over the click bait. This time I'm glad I didn't. But because this is a family blog, all clean and wholesome, like stuff you could share with your little ones except for the heretical stuff and the odd mention of delicate undergarments, neither of which category show up very often, because pipesmokers like myself are rather calm and bland and seldom provocative at all, I shall not share with you what the article was or where it might be found.
I do not want to harm you, this is a safe zone.

The article was about visits to the emergency room by people who had done things to themselves. Horribly insertive things.

Most of them were male.
Organs were involved.
It was very funny.



Not only the predicaments which your mind is probably not ripe enough to imagine, but also their unbelievable explanations about how the jar of peanut butter ended up "ended up", as just one example.

Some people really are up to the challenge.

And no, I had no idea that there were "Garden Gnome Parties".

[There may be more to being a typical male than I thought. Merely figuring out how certain body parts work is not enough, it seems. What with being somewhat on the spectrum, I just had no idea. It's probably that mechanical instinct we men are alleged to have, and an urge to put things together in creative new ways. Impossible feats of engineering, and a tendency to fix stuff, combined with the competitiveness in which I am somewhat deficient. 
Vacuum cleaners, courgettes, coffee cups, and Skittles.
I do NOT want to 'taste the rainbow'!]




My only insertive moment that required a visit to the emergency room was when I got a pipe cleaner stuck in my ear, because I had run out of q-tips and sometimes a cheapskate Dutch tendency I have not been entirely able to shake crops up. No q-tips, but lots of fluffy pipe cleaners. There is no dignity to having a pipe cleaner stuck in one's ear.

[Using two pipe cleaners would have been sensible, but such a waste! Don't ask.]

On the other hand, one can be fully clothed when heading to the emergency room with a fluffy pipe cleaner coming out of one's ear.
You don't need a trenchcoat, and you can sit down.

Anything that doesn't require a trenchcoat and allows one to sit is good.

Even if it is self-inflicted.




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