I just got back from the eye ball doctor. I had lost my glasses and needed a new prescription. Well, they weren’t working so well anymore anyway. It turns out my right eye has deteriorated badly, which I knew because the glasses were no longer doing the trick. The eyeball doctor said, or so I thought she said, that I had “masculine deterioration”, which you can confirm by how I just spelled that word. For a few moments I thought it was just another of life's unfair deals like why should I go blind in one eye simply because I was a masculine?
Well, it turns out she said “macular deterioration” and not “masculine” and it had nothing to do with being a guy. She asked if I’d ever been a sun gazer or a welder as I had a scar in my eye right in the dead center, and the scar had grown. I said no because it was the correct answer. My left eye is perfect…like I’m 16 years old in the left eye….Who was that Hispanic girlfriend of ex-NFL player Andre "the Jerk" Rison who tried to shoot him and because there’s no justice, she missed. He was an ass. His right eye is probably OK. Her name was something left-eye Lopez. That’s me now…Ralph “Left-Eye” Toynbee. Where’s the money?
So, they took pictures of the inside of my eyes which means they dilate them and then put a big light in there and photograph them. It’s like looking into the sun or welding. Then you go outside where the sun is so damned bright you can see NOTHING and you proceed to drive home. That’s when I saw the craziest thing ever.
At a busy intersection, a guy in front of me is making a left turn. He can barely control his vehicle. It’s 10 in the morning and I figure he’s about to smack right into a sign when he gets the damned vehicle back under control. Of course, he’s talking on a cell phone with the other hand. Now, here’s the clincher……..THE IMBECILE IS ON A MOTORCYCLE!!! Of course, he also had no helmet because in Kansas you do not need a helmet. Kansas is the place where the legislature also says there has been no evolution. In Kansas, they are right. This guy sure hasn’t evolved. In fact, why would he need a helmet? His head already doesn’t work. I haven’t driven a motorcycle for a long time. But, the little I remember about it was that two hands really helped a lot….especially because as the driver, you already have your crotch wrapped around a 50+ horsepower engine.
I’ve never tried that one before and won’t. The closest I ever came was to ride a horse with no saddle or reigns once up near Tongie. I had a boss who had horses and said to come up to the farm and ride anytime I wanted. So, one day I showed up. I’d ridden them enough to feel OK about it but never bareback and especially without reigns. It isn’t very pleasant because on a hot day, they sweat a bit and you’re slopping around in it. So, Kenny, my boss, says the horse is a good horse but stay close to the neck because if I sit back very far, it tends to buck. Well, my God! What kind of a deal is that?
So, I’m out riding across the pasture and am galloping along really good and when you want to turn left, you just pull the mane real hard to the left and the horse turns OK….I felt just like Tonto now. Then my friend Chas, who’s nuts, and has his own horse thought it would be great fun to stick his horses nose half way up the ass end of my horse….which he did! My horse bolts like a bat out of hell and there I go flapping in the breeze like I’m hanging onto a run away lawn tractor or something. (A different story altogether).
Naturally, I have no control over where and when I’ll go up and down on the horse which by now seems about five times bigger than it did when I got on it. Furthermore, had the terror gone on much longer, I’d have been singing soprano in the “They Used to be All Boys” choir, if you catch my drift!
At this point, I’m frightened to death and exhausted. The damned horse runs as fast as a car and I’ve rolled all the way underneath his neck and am just hanging onto its upper neck with my arms and have my legs wrapped around its lower neck. I’m contemplating dropping on off but it’s still moving pretty fast and I figure it will just stomp me now. (At least I’m not singing soprano any more). Then, just as I’m ready to give up, it charges to a fence, stops on a dime, hurling me into the fence.
I never did get back on the horse. (I’ve never gotten back on ANY horse). I just walked back to the farmhouse, told Kenney where I thought he’d find his horse and waited for Chas whose future was going to involve taking a real beating from a much smaller guy than he. When he rode up, still on his horse, he was just amazed. He said it was the greatest exhibition of horsemanship he’d ever seen and could not believe I stayed on it in all those positions. He said when I went around the horse’s neck, I looked just like Tonto. TONTO, MY ASS!
I was scared to death.
Anyway, I’ve got a real respect for anything I wrap my legs around that’s stronger than me and no way do I ride a motorcycle and talk on a cell phone at the same time.
RALPH
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
The HOMELESS GOT MORE THAN THEIR SHARE
An anonymous friend of mine named Norbert was recently confined to Lawrence Memorial Hospital in a semi-private room. Much to his dismay, he spent a week in that room next to a homeless man (or so he claimed) who after a few days began to open up about his personal life. The weather had become much colder and the guy figured out that he could feign some soft tissue injuries which were really hard to diagnose, pretended not to walk, and act desperate. He was admitted to the hospital for observation and had extended the stay to four days.
He further iterated to Norbert, my unnamed friend, that he had pulled such stunts before, having chosen in the past to spend time in jail. By his own admission, he found the experience to have been worse because the host of characters occupying space with him, many homeless themselves, did not live up to his social standards. So, he developed his hospital stunt. By the end of the 4th day, he had become quite a nuisance to Norbert who had decided to turn the guy in to the hospital officials. Norbert had been paying over $400/month for his family health insurance coverage. The weather had improved and the homeless man said the only reason he was now staying was because of the women (nurses I assume) which were nowhere to be seen in jail.
The problem compounded itself when Norbert relayed this scam to officials who were quite skeptical of his story. Norbert had been admitted to the hospital after suffering a large gash near his left eye which he had explained to the admitting desk was the result of being shot by a Macadamia nut or something of a similar nature which he assumed had been fired from a spud gun by a bunch of West Lawrence hooligans.
A spud gun was a prankster’s weapon made from a tube of PVC piping, several feet long and sealed off at one end. A small hole was drilled into the sealed off end so that the prankster could spray the flammable contents of a common aerosol can into the tube. A potato was dropped into the open end and a match touched to the hole in the capped end. This caused an explosion within the tube which resulted in the tube becoming a cannon and the potato serving as the projectile. A good cannon could launch said potato several hundred feet at a high velocity. Norbert had stumbled upon the cannon, a pile of matches and a bag of Macadamia nuts while looking for wild Morels. Apparently, the hooligans had run off to the store for more aerosol and left the rest of their equipment in the field which Norbert was in the process of crossing.
So, a little while later, Norbert claims he was bending down to pick up a Morel when he was bitch-slapped upside his eyebrow by a hard woody object. He heard a loud bang and then lost consciousness. When he awoke, he was disoriented and found to be walking from the field with all the coordination of a sailor just returning from a thirty day R & R sabbatical in Bangkok. He was rushed to the hospital by authorities who had responded to a 911 call from concerned neighbors who complained there appeared to be an injured sailor in the neighborhood.
Well, these geniuses at the hospital told the police who later came to take a report that they discerned that Norbert's story was indeed a fabrication because Morels were out of season. As long as I have known Norbert, I have never known him to be a hunter of mushrooms. He probably doesn't know what the season is. Anyway, the police gave his story no credence at all and upon Norbert's complaining about the homeless guy, the hospital officials decided to kick Norbert out. Whatever did really happen, it was clear that Norbert had nearly lost his eye. Nobody could ever really figure out if the homeless guy was ill, injured or what. For all we know he was only there for the women.
To this day, Norbert has little good to say about the homeless. I cannot totally disagree with him, although I try not to paint with too broad a brush. One thing I am certain of is that homelessness probably cuts into ones dating big time. So, what looks like a remarkably attractive lifestyle with all the handouts and booze can really have a major drawback in another area and people should consider this before deciding to become homeless.
He further iterated to Norbert, my unnamed friend, that he had pulled such stunts before, having chosen in the past to spend time in jail. By his own admission, he found the experience to have been worse because the host of characters occupying space with him, many homeless themselves, did not live up to his social standards. So, he developed his hospital stunt. By the end of the 4th day, he had become quite a nuisance to Norbert who had decided to turn the guy in to the hospital officials. Norbert had been paying over $400/month for his family health insurance coverage. The weather had improved and the homeless man said the only reason he was now staying was because of the women (nurses I assume) which were nowhere to be seen in jail.
The problem compounded itself when Norbert relayed this scam to officials who were quite skeptical of his story. Norbert had been admitted to the hospital after suffering a large gash near his left eye which he had explained to the admitting desk was the result of being shot by a Macadamia nut or something of a similar nature which he assumed had been fired from a spud gun by a bunch of West Lawrence hooligans.
A spud gun was a prankster’s weapon made from a tube of PVC piping, several feet long and sealed off at one end. A small hole was drilled into the sealed off end so that the prankster could spray the flammable contents of a common aerosol can into the tube. A potato was dropped into the open end and a match touched to the hole in the capped end. This caused an explosion within the tube which resulted in the tube becoming a cannon and the potato serving as the projectile. A good cannon could launch said potato several hundred feet at a high velocity. Norbert had stumbled upon the cannon, a pile of matches and a bag of Macadamia nuts while looking for wild Morels. Apparently, the hooligans had run off to the store for more aerosol and left the rest of their equipment in the field which Norbert was in the process of crossing.
So, a little while later, Norbert claims he was bending down to pick up a Morel when he was bitch-slapped upside his eyebrow by a hard woody object. He heard a loud bang and then lost consciousness. When he awoke, he was disoriented and found to be walking from the field with all the coordination of a sailor just returning from a thirty day R & R sabbatical in Bangkok. He was rushed to the hospital by authorities who had responded to a 911 call from concerned neighbors who complained there appeared to be an injured sailor in the neighborhood.
Well, these geniuses at the hospital told the police who later came to take a report that they discerned that Norbert's story was indeed a fabrication because Morels were out of season. As long as I have known Norbert, I have never known him to be a hunter of mushrooms. He probably doesn't know what the season is. Anyway, the police gave his story no credence at all and upon Norbert's complaining about the homeless guy, the hospital officials decided to kick Norbert out. Whatever did really happen, it was clear that Norbert had nearly lost his eye. Nobody could ever really figure out if the homeless guy was ill, injured or what. For all we know he was only there for the women.
To this day, Norbert has little good to say about the homeless. I cannot totally disagree with him, although I try not to paint with too broad a brush. One thing I am certain of is that homelessness probably cuts into ones dating big time. So, what looks like a remarkably attractive lifestyle with all the handouts and booze can really have a major drawback in another area and people should consider this before deciding to become homeless.
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