There was construction by the side of the bike path so the path turned from level tar to sloped, rugged grass. Good for pedestrians and two-wheeled bikes; bad for three wheels. I tried to keep on the right side of the cones but the trike had other ideas and down the slope I went. I was tipping as I came close to the lamppost and me and the BYB fell into it.
Articles from Harrangue Man
The bitter irony was that not 24 hours beforehand I'd bragged about how me and the BYB were in sync like me as a 12-year-old in sync with my then bike. I grew up in a town that you could get anywhere to on a bike within 40 minutes and it was the '80s so you and your bike would vanish during the day then appear again around darkness. No contact; presumed okay.
SulliedI'd put on a tight blue shirt, not that tight, but it was nice. My nose was dripping though and I looked down to see a fat dribble of snot had soiled it. Total wearing time < 30 seconds.I think that's a record.Sneaky catI heard the distant light clunk of the screen door close and knowing I was the only one home I investigated. The black cat was out and under the BYB. I grabbed her and hustled her back in.
Tissue in the washI checked every fucking pocket, I swear, every single one. But I missed have missed one because I opened the lids and saw the results. There's the good result where a tissue stays in shape—I found one that went through the wash and dryer and separate into three intact dried sheets on three separate garments—and the bad one where it shreds and pulps through your clothes.It was the bad one. I yelled as I shook the shards free, snowing the laundry with their crud.
It's not often you get to write a string of seeming nonsensical words that actually make sense but that's exactly what I did; I de-shanked my mid-tine.The jagged stump of the mostly-missing middle finger, or tine, of the back scratcher protruded and risked scarring my flesh so I used pliers to snap the plastic back until it was just a nub; in effect ruining the shank effect th
With thanks to The Simpsons.In the great shed clan up of '17 the skeleton hand back scratcher was presumed tossed so I relocated the better of the two inside BS's for sweaty, hairy back shed-based action.It's glorious, with five finger tines that are sharp enough to give a decent scratch but not enough to hurt yourself if you go nuts. Well, was glorious and is no longer five-gingered; the middle one has bee
I got lost on the BYB when retracing my route, only discovering so when the bike path ended in the middle of a long stretch of dual lane. As I crossed the road a car had to slow and tooted. It was fair enough; if he'd not slowed he'd have clipped me and sent a fat hairy whirlwind of flesh, rubber and steel into oncoming traffic. I retraced my pedals and found the under pass I had passed and went back through.Each day I try to ride somewhere new and getting lost is just part of the fun.
A shart is always a surprise; I doubt anyone has consciously birthed one out with deliberation unless impaired in some fashion.I caught most of it but it was still ghastly and I showered as soon as I was clean enough to risk movement. That's my IBS for me; it can be bearable and then suddenly ARRGH, I JUST SHAT MYSELF!Damn you, abdominal business. I do feel oddly better. It's sleeping with undies time just in case round two comes at me. It might; the IBS, it does not play fair.