PonyGuy
02-02-2012, 01:55 PM
So, late last night (along about 11:30 or so) I was trying to locate a box of car parts I'm trying to sell; I stored the part away a few years ago, but now I can't seem to find it. As I was coming down the ladder from the attic hatch in the garage, the ladder went one way, and I went the other way... ↓
And I didn't even bounce. I got royally pyssed off at both myself and the situation, and went inside the house to clean off the dust and detritus i got on my hat from the garage floor. Our daughter saw me and went into a crying, screaming fit of tears... my wife called me from down the hallway and wanted to know "What was that racket out in the garage?" Then wifey arrived on the scene and the fun began...
Apparently, I was bleeding profusely from my head, down my neck, and dripping a trail from my leg. (This is not good...) Wifely hysterics somewhat subsided and she called our son (who lives a mile or so down the road) and tells him to "Get over here NOW!" Our flipped-out daughter happened to grab her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1 for help. Meanwhile, I was standing in the kitchen on the tile, so my dripping blood wouldn't ruin the carpeting, and decided that perhaps a cup of coffee was in order. Soon, a small army converged upon the front door... 3 cops and 5 or 6 medics from the Fire Department. Medics ordered me to sit down, cops began interrogating my wife and daughter, because they thought I was pushed off the ladder intentionally. I refused to sit on my La-Z-Boy because I didn't want blood all over it. Somebody appeared with a vinyl-padded folding chair and I parked myself it it. Cops figured out that they got wrong information about my being pushed. Medics found a hole in my (new) Wranglers, and once I got them off, there was a matching hole in my right leg, about 6" below my ass. "Yeah, Copley E.R., Oswego One here; it's about a 4 to 6 inch hockey-stick gash (their term for "L-shaped") and there's a chunk of meat missing..." Cop asks me to confirm that nobody pushed me off the ladder. Medics try to decide whether I need a board or if I can just walk to the Amberlamps. Another Medic arrives from out of the gathering domiciliary haze with a torture device designed to prohibit me from seeing anything below my nose, and such device is quickly Velcroed. Now I gotta go pee. I'm led down the hallway to the bathroom, where I try to aim, and accurately guess where the pee is going... I hear the telltale splash, so my aim must be close enough. I'm led back out to the living room, where I lie down on the waterboard, but thankfully they forgot to bring the water. "1, 2, 3, Hutt!" and I glide through the front door, medic-borne, and into the waiting Diesel Emergency Room. Did you know that there are seven light fixtures in the ceiling of an ambulance, each with 9 white LED's? New ambulances are all Diesel-powered so they don't catch on fire as easily as gasoline engines, and they're built on 1½ ton truck chassis, and the Medics really like the F-450's because they're bigger than the old F-350's and GM 3500's. I had to go to the bathroom again and decided that maybe that 1 liter bag of saline solution I-V hanging over my head probably had something to do with it. Dodge/Mercedes Sprinters are too tall and tippy to make real good ambulances. The Hospital E.R. was really busy, so I waited in the hallway outside exam room #7, where there was a crabby old bag who belched a lot and kept bitching about the Medics; she accused them of stealing her purse during her ambulance ride. Then she farted, and an attendant told her that the purse was sitting on the floor beside her. An hour later, some nurse named Andrew finally wheeled me into exam room #17 where I got to wait another hour with my attending wife and two children while the E.R. staff tried to quiet a screeching youngster. I needed a CT Scan of my noggin and LaMorah was kind enough to push my bed (with me in it!) down the hall to use the vacant CT machine. Romney really whipped Gingrich's ass in Florida, didn't he? But Newt sure ain't gonna toss in the towel... at least that's the educated opinion of Anderson Cooper at 2:00 AM CST. (Who names their kid "Anderson", anyway?) The attending physician finally begins to attend to my leaks. He unwrapped the wound and said "Those Medics did a real good job!" And after he tosses them this rose, the redstuff starts trickling out again. (Maybe he should call them back... ya think?) Gauze and papertape to the rescue! Andrew returns after the weather report with a super-soaker of saline solution to hose the accumulated dreck out of the femoral cranny... memories of salt-water bathed flesh wounds occurring in my earlier years float across my mindscreen. Physician returns with a quart bottle of Nopaincaine and threads his needle. He and some of his friends were playing golf when one guy stepped on a fire-ant hill. Hurt a lot, but he finally made it to the 9th hole rest area, where the guy found relief by immersing his foot in the blue stuff that filled the toilet bowl. Most sutures will dissolve without external assistance, but they should be removed to prevent infection once the skin knits. I had a Tetanus shot last year. Skin staples are allegedly made of Titanium, which is why they're so expensive, but they're really just plain 304 SS. Our son Kevin got weak in the stomach from watching me bleed, and he had to go to work in the morning, so he left and arranged for our ride home in a Police car. The physician wrapped up his job and my leg, and sent Andrew back in to wipe up the mess and me. My head was still spinning from watching that CT scanner whirl... While Andrew was wiping stuff, he found a couple more leaks in my head, which explains the red tattoos on the pillowcase. Since the ooky stuff went through to the pillow, they'll have to charge me for an entire pillow, not just the pillowcase, in case the insurance company wants to know. 40% of voters in Florida have a negative personal perception of Mr. Gingrich. The attending physician (who was named Wayne) came back and said he was surprised that he didn't notice the slice over my left ear since he was already working on the back of my right leg, anyway. He took lessons from a pro at Stonebridge, which cured his slice, but he didn't think the lessons would help my slice very much, but a skin stapler probably would. Each stapler comes with 35 staples already loaded, but if you need 36, you have to get another stapler, and they throw them away after they use them since they're made of plastic and wouldn't be much good after they went through the autoclave. He told Andrew to put some gop on the stapled slice to prevent infection... and maybe to prevent the staples from getting rusty, but since I had a tetanus shot last year, that probably wouldn't matter anyway. Why does Newt go by that femmy contraction of his name? "Leroy" sounds more ballsy and could help his personal image if you overlook his personal behavior.
I got dressed at 05:30 and we all went out to the empty E.R. waiting room to wait for the promised police car to take us back home... about 6 o'clock my police car ride arrived, but to my surprise, it was an OLD, beat-up police car, with a TAXI light on the roof! I gave the groggy (but sober!) driver a $10 tip when we got home. Do you think BIZ will do a decent job of restoring bloody underwear to sorta whiteness? Then I tried going to sleep in my La-Z-Boy on an old hospital blanket so I wouldn't foul the upholstery. But I couldn't sleep, so I put the blanket on the bed and proceeded to snore.
I never did find the box of car stuff I wanted to sell.
Ripped jeans a a fashion fad, aren't they? Don't they cost more?
And I didn't even bounce. I got royally pyssed off at both myself and the situation, and went inside the house to clean off the dust and detritus i got on my hat from the garage floor. Our daughter saw me and went into a crying, screaming fit of tears... my wife called me from down the hallway and wanted to know "What was that racket out in the garage?" Then wifey arrived on the scene and the fun began...
Apparently, I was bleeding profusely from my head, down my neck, and dripping a trail from my leg. (This is not good...) Wifely hysterics somewhat subsided and she called our son (who lives a mile or so down the road) and tells him to "Get over here NOW!" Our flipped-out daughter happened to grab her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1 for help. Meanwhile, I was standing in the kitchen on the tile, so my dripping blood wouldn't ruin the carpeting, and decided that perhaps a cup of coffee was in order. Soon, a small army converged upon the front door... 3 cops and 5 or 6 medics from the Fire Department. Medics ordered me to sit down, cops began interrogating my wife and daughter, because they thought I was pushed off the ladder intentionally. I refused to sit on my La-Z-Boy because I didn't want blood all over it. Somebody appeared with a vinyl-padded folding chair and I parked myself it it. Cops figured out that they got wrong information about my being pushed. Medics found a hole in my (new) Wranglers, and once I got them off, there was a matching hole in my right leg, about 6" below my ass. "Yeah, Copley E.R., Oswego One here; it's about a 4 to 6 inch hockey-stick gash (their term for "L-shaped") and there's a chunk of meat missing..." Cop asks me to confirm that nobody pushed me off the ladder. Medics try to decide whether I need a board or if I can just walk to the Amberlamps. Another Medic arrives from out of the gathering domiciliary haze with a torture device designed to prohibit me from seeing anything below my nose, and such device is quickly Velcroed. Now I gotta go pee. I'm led down the hallway to the bathroom, where I try to aim, and accurately guess where the pee is going... I hear the telltale splash, so my aim must be close enough. I'm led back out to the living room, where I lie down on the waterboard, but thankfully they forgot to bring the water. "1, 2, 3, Hutt!" and I glide through the front door, medic-borne, and into the waiting Diesel Emergency Room. Did you know that there are seven light fixtures in the ceiling of an ambulance, each with 9 white LED's? New ambulances are all Diesel-powered so they don't catch on fire as easily as gasoline engines, and they're built on 1½ ton truck chassis, and the Medics really like the F-450's because they're bigger than the old F-350's and GM 3500's. I had to go to the bathroom again and decided that maybe that 1 liter bag of saline solution I-V hanging over my head probably had something to do with it. Dodge/Mercedes Sprinters are too tall and tippy to make real good ambulances. The Hospital E.R. was really busy, so I waited in the hallway outside exam room #7, where there was a crabby old bag who belched a lot and kept bitching about the Medics; she accused them of stealing her purse during her ambulance ride. Then she farted, and an attendant told her that the purse was sitting on the floor beside her. An hour later, some nurse named Andrew finally wheeled me into exam room #17 where I got to wait another hour with my attending wife and two children while the E.R. staff tried to quiet a screeching youngster. I needed a CT Scan of my noggin and LaMorah was kind enough to push my bed (with me in it!) down the hall to use the vacant CT machine. Romney really whipped Gingrich's ass in Florida, didn't he? But Newt sure ain't gonna toss in the towel... at least that's the educated opinion of Anderson Cooper at 2:00 AM CST. (Who names their kid "Anderson", anyway?) The attending physician finally begins to attend to my leaks. He unwrapped the wound and said "Those Medics did a real good job!" And after he tosses them this rose, the redstuff starts trickling out again. (Maybe he should call them back... ya think?) Gauze and papertape to the rescue! Andrew returns after the weather report with a super-soaker of saline solution to hose the accumulated dreck out of the femoral cranny... memories of salt-water bathed flesh wounds occurring in my earlier years float across my mindscreen. Physician returns with a quart bottle of Nopaincaine and threads his needle. He and some of his friends were playing golf when one guy stepped on a fire-ant hill. Hurt a lot, but he finally made it to the 9th hole rest area, where the guy found relief by immersing his foot in the blue stuff that filled the toilet bowl. Most sutures will dissolve without external assistance, but they should be removed to prevent infection once the skin knits. I had a Tetanus shot last year. Skin staples are allegedly made of Titanium, which is why they're so expensive, but they're really just plain 304 SS. Our son Kevin got weak in the stomach from watching me bleed, and he had to go to work in the morning, so he left and arranged for our ride home in a Police car. The physician wrapped up his job and my leg, and sent Andrew back in to wipe up the mess and me. My head was still spinning from watching that CT scanner whirl... While Andrew was wiping stuff, he found a couple more leaks in my head, which explains the red tattoos on the pillowcase. Since the ooky stuff went through to the pillow, they'll have to charge me for an entire pillow, not just the pillowcase, in case the insurance company wants to know. 40% of voters in Florida have a negative personal perception of Mr. Gingrich. The attending physician (who was named Wayne) came back and said he was surprised that he didn't notice the slice over my left ear since he was already working on the back of my right leg, anyway. He took lessons from a pro at Stonebridge, which cured his slice, but he didn't think the lessons would help my slice very much, but a skin stapler probably would. Each stapler comes with 35 staples already loaded, but if you need 36, you have to get another stapler, and they throw them away after they use them since they're made of plastic and wouldn't be much good after they went through the autoclave. He told Andrew to put some gop on the stapled slice to prevent infection... and maybe to prevent the staples from getting rusty, but since I had a tetanus shot last year, that probably wouldn't matter anyway. Why does Newt go by that femmy contraction of his name? "Leroy" sounds more ballsy and could help his personal image if you overlook his personal behavior.
I got dressed at 05:30 and we all went out to the empty E.R. waiting room to wait for the promised police car to take us back home... about 6 o'clock my police car ride arrived, but to my surprise, it was an OLD, beat-up police car, with a TAXI light on the roof! I gave the groggy (but sober!) driver a $10 tip when we got home. Do you think BIZ will do a decent job of restoring bloody underwear to sorta whiteness? Then I tried going to sleep in my La-Z-Boy on an old hospital blanket so I wouldn't foul the upholstery. But I couldn't sleep, so I put the blanket on the bed and proceeded to snore.
I never did find the box of car stuff I wanted to sell.
Ripped jeans a a fashion fad, aren't they? Don't they cost more?