See? There is something purely evil about that state. It can't hit bottom no matter how hard it tries. Nothing...NOTHING can surprise me about Florida anymore. I don't care if the gravity begins turning off at random moments and randomly hurling rednecks and giant friggin' snakes into the twilight, it will simply never run out of self attack ad material.
What I want to know is how a quadruple amputee is "involved" in the death of his parents. Does he weigh 400 pounds and he smothered them when they were lifting him out of bed? Does he have some prosthetic contraption with a gun on the end instead of a claw? Does he have a trained pack of killer attack dogs? What's going on with this story?
Why wouldn't the dogs just turn on him? He's a lump of screaming, breathing, living meat who can only feebly bite, scream and wiggle back at an attacking entity. It'd be like feeding a Komodo Dragon a goat with cerebral palsy.
I guess he could crawl on their faces and smother them, if they were hugely obese or amputees themselves.
I apologize in advance for three posts in a row [wrestling some whisky here] but can you imagine an quadruple amputee super-villain? What would his name be? The Leech? The Slug? The Green Mamba? Fuck, it is a mystery. In less stupid drunken musings, here's an amputee I've seen a lot in prank videos that infest my Facebook news-feed:
In further odd news...the kid that was beat to death at the church in New York? Yeah, he may have been a witch. Of course. http://www.foxnews.com/us/2015/10/1...ecipitated-fatal-beating-at-ny/?intcmp=hplnws
A few days ago, the idea for the tattoo I wanted for my brain surgery hit me like a ton of bricks (only took me a little over 8 years). If all goes according to plan I will be getting it tomorrow: A clock, with the hour, minute, and second hand pointing to the month, day, and year of my surgery. The mechanisms inside the clock will be visible. It's going on my shoulder. All of this is extremely important. Spoiler: reasons - for one, the cyst around my brain tumor was roughly the size of my fist, maybe a little bigger, which is roughly the size of my shoulder. - one of the major things I was in danger of losing during the surgery, besides my life obviously, was my eye sight. Accordingly, when I woke up, the first thing my mother yelled at me was not "I love you" or "holy shit you made it" but rather "what time is it?!?"... There was a big fucking clock on the wall in front of me. I'll never forget that out-of-focus image. - The mechanics thing is a biggie. I essentially had my choice between two surgeons, one who spent the majority of his time doing research so he was on the cutting edge of everything but did relatively few actual surgeries. The other was described to me, by a surgeon friend of my uncle who was consulting, as "a mechanic, who spends all his time in the garage fixing things but doesn't know what new parts are coming out."... I went with the mechanic. He saved my life. Spoiler: sad post-script The surgeon who was consulting me, by the way, was no longer actively practicing, as he was a brain tumor survivor himself and thus had lost the requisite fine motor skills to be a neurosurgeon. A few years after I survived, he swallowed a bullet because he couldn't take not being a surgeon anymore. This is going to look so badass. Too bad it took me 8 fucking years to think of it... but then again, I am a little slow.
Damn. That is huge. Something had to give way when you stuff a fist sized something into your skull. My guess is the pressure took the path of least resistance, did you look like this before surgery?
The actual tumor (or at least the main one) was the size of a grape, located only two millimeters from my brain stem, and that fucking big ass cyst basically compressed my brain into 3/4 its normal size. A lot of stuff did give way: my cerebellum (the part that controls walking, balance, all that) was flattened like a pancake. I was so hydro-cephalic that one doctor literally told me that my brain could be "impaled upon your spine at any moment." My pituitary glands were herniating down my neck and closer to my shoulders than they were my brain. I presented in the hospital describing myself as asymptomatic; we only discovered in hindsight how many things -- such as migraines, seeing double occasionally, anger outburst, etc. -- were actually signs I was very near death instead of things that needed advil, corrective glasses, and chilling the fuck out respectively. It was bad enough one doctor, who had just seen my brain scans, came into my room and told me bluntly "I am surprised you are alive right now." Thanks asshole. And people wonder how I got PTSD from it all.
Actually, not at all. I was so close to death I had a priest read me my last rites (side note: I'm also atheist now). When I woke up, because I knew exactly what death felt like -- well, everything except for the actual going to sleep and not waking up part, but that's just a technicality -- I was no longer scared of it. Still am not. I was right on the brink without walking over that line. And once you get there, you realize it's not so bad. Accordingly, I went through a period afterword where it was exactly like that Tim McGraw song "Live Like You Were Dying." Basically acted like I was invincible, drank too much and slept too little, took too many risks and drove 100 mph everywhere in my truck that was barely meant to go 60. Switched my major in college to public speaking, because statistically more people are afraid of speaking in public than are afraid of death and I already knocked one out so I was morbidly curious to try the other. Only really cool thing to come out of that "fuck life I'm invincible" period is that when I saw basically my ideal woman looks-wise I took a swing without second guessing. We've been married for 5 years, have a son together and are starting to think about another one. PTSD was a bitch but it's mostly under control now, I still occasionally have to deal with depression and anxiety. 8 years later I check my heart rate on my neck dozens of times a day out of habit. Of course, things do calm down when you're a father; I've been sober for almost 5 months now. Still smoke cigars, but that's about the only risk I take anymore. Once you get over that hump, it becomes just background noise. I know that there's other things I could be doing right now other than sitting on the computer typing this, but it's all calculated risks now. If someone's interested, I generally take the time to answer; in the past I've helped a few board members in similar circumstances with loved ones, so I never know who is reading what when I post this stuff. Sorry to derail the WDT, but I'm more than happy to answer any questions people have.
My problem with that "live like you were dying" can be summed up at 3:05 here: Instead, I basically live like I'm already dead. That which is dead can never die.
FOX needs to get out of the sports game because they clearly suck at it. Friday, I watched the ALCS on FOX and then yesterday when I went to watch it...a juicer infomercial. For some reason they moved the game back to FS1. Today I noticed that the only afternoon game awarded to FOX was Seattle/Carolina. Awesome. So as I settle in to watch the Seahawks, the pregame show is on and "Bye-bye everybody." What. The. Fuck. BMX racing. Over football. Stupid motherfuckers.
Did anybody ever notice how the deck officer yells "hard to starboard" but then they actually steer to port side? Clearly, that's why the Titanic sunk.