Saturday, April 16, 2005

The kind of questions I ask

It must be fun living with me. For instance, right now I'm contemplating asking my roommates if we have a hammer around here. I don't think we do, but it never hurts to ask. They will say no, quickly run the gamut in their heads of common uses for a hammer and, coming up empty, ask me what I want it for. My answer? "My foot hurts." Fo' real. The top of the arch hurts like I just need to crack a knuckle or something. So, to make my foot stop hurting, I'd hit it with a hammer.

Wouldn't be the first time I've used backwater redneck home remedies. Remember that time I operated on my own foot to remove a wart? Armed with nothing but scissors, nail clippers, and a pocket knife, I got rid of that little bugger once and for all. Of course, I bled all over the bathroom, but I think an occasional bleeding keeps the body going, keeps things fresh and motivated. Women have monthly bleeds, and they outlive men consistently. Coincidence? I think not.

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