The Art of Misspeaking
Ok. You see this beautiful woman at a party. She actually talks to you. When she asks what you do for a living, you reply that you are a retired fighter pilot that does extreme skiing now to replace the thrills of combat that you left behind when you retired.
Wow. It works. She is interested in how many missions you made and how many times you narrowly escaped death. She then moves to your extreme skiing. How many mountains? How many countries? Things are going well..............until your friend can’t take it anymore and lets her know that the closest you’ve ever come to the military is the Boy Scouts, that you can’t ski worth a lick (besides the fact that you can’t even afford lift tickets), and your job as an assistant bookkeeper with the donut shop is in peril.
Man........what do you do now? I know. You tell her, “Sorry, I just misspoke.”
Now.....guess what happens next. Does she say, “Well, big guy, I understand that you just misspoke. I mean, that kind of stuff happens. People misspeak all the time, and quite often, it’s to tell a story that would never really happen to them in real life just so they can impress whoever is listening. Let’s go out for dinner anyway and see if sparks will fly...”
Or maybe she says, “I can’t believe that you are such a LIAR! Get the #*$#(@ outta my life.”
Does anyone believe that the first option will be how this sad story ends? Of course, Hillary Clinton can say on numerous occasions that she flew to Bosnia and landed under sniper fire, that the welcoming ceremony had to be moved indoors, and that such death-defying actions qualify to make her Commander-In-Chief. I gotta wonder if she was a fighter pilot who now does extreme skiing.
Well, when Mrs. Clinton was confronted with video that showed a nice, calm welcoming ceremony held right by the plane that even included a whole 7th grade class greeting her on the runway, she calmly asserted, “Well, I just misspoke.” She even went on to opine that, “I’m only human, which may surprise some of you.”
The only thing that surprises me is that we, as a country, didn’t say “I can’t believe that you are such a LIAR! Get the #*$#(@ outta my primaries!”
Oh well, gotta get back to planning my extreme skiing outing for next week.....can’t wait to see Tibet.
Misspokenly Yours,
Blawgerman
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
So, Blawgerman, You Think You're Having a Crappy Day
So, Blawgerman, You Think You're Having a Crappy Day?
Well, I got a response to my toe blog that I feel that I must share. Quite honestly, I'm glad now that I have only toe problems.......
Here it is:
That Strange Feeling....
Have you ever been in a situation where you are right in the middle of something and all of the sudden you have a strange feeling like something is about to happen. Well, one day I was at a foundry with my dad several years ago and it was in the middle of July. Needless to say, it was "hotter than the hubs of hell" and it was right after lunch.
Of course, after spending 25 minutes climbing stairs to get to the top of a large piece of equipment, my father and I were taking a few minutes to gather our thoughts and breathe, deciding what we were going to do next. As I stooped over to hook the chain on the first motor....well, it was at that moment I realized that something was wrong. I had the strangest feeling that something inside me was not right, kind of like the guy from "Alien" just before the little monster came out of his belly.
My stomach was rumbling and rumbling and all of a sudden it came to me....I had to crap. I raised up rather quickly and informed my father of the impending damage that was about to take place in my pants, and as I informed him, little beads of sweat started to roll down my face because I knew I had to travel the 345 steps down to the bottom of the building.
I very quickly and very cautiously proceeded down the steps, making sure my bad situation didn't become worse. When I finally reached the bottom, I began the task of looking for a place to relieve myself. In a building that was no longer being used and scheduled to be demolished, one would imagine that there are a number of places to let nature run its course. I looked around and found the perfect place.
Now, being a big guy with a bum leg, bending over was just not an option, so I had to improvise. I pulled down my pants and backed my rear end up to the wall and made it look like I was sitting on an invisible chair.....and let 'er rip.
Now, shortly after I was "sitting" on my imaginary toilet, I hear a strange noise that sounded like someone was shooting the metl behind me.....I yelled out, "who's there?" but no one answered. I heard the noise again, but this thime it was louder, louder even than the noise generated from the demolition equipment running in the building. I yelled out, "HEY, WHO'S THERE?" but still no one answered. So, as I sat there humming a tune, I started hearing what sounded like a machine gun going off. Pop.... poppoppop.... ....poppoppoppoppoppop.....and all of a sudden, the entire wall gave way.....causing me to fall right to the ground right on top of my recent deposit.
And if that wasn't bad enough, and I don't know if you know this or not, but foundries are VERY DIRTY AND DUSTY. Once the wall let loose and fell, all of the dust and dirt on top fell....you know where....right on top of me. Not only was my robust posterior covered in crap, but my entire body was covered in black soot....
This is a true story, and every time I tell it, whomever is hearing it almosts wets themselves with laughter. I guess at the time I didn't think it was funny, and after almost 7 years, I still don't think it is funny!!!
Signed,
The Demo Man
Well, I got a response to my toe blog that I feel that I must share. Quite honestly, I'm glad now that I have only toe problems.......
Here it is:
That Strange Feeling....
Have you ever been in a situation where you are right in the middle of something and all of the sudden you have a strange feeling like something is about to happen. Well, one day I was at a foundry with my dad several years ago and it was in the middle of July. Needless to say, it was "hotter than the hubs of hell" and it was right after lunch.
Of course, after spending 25 minutes climbing stairs to get to the top of a large piece of equipment, my father and I were taking a few minutes to gather our thoughts and breathe, deciding what we were going to do next. As I stooped over to hook the chain on the first motor....well, it was at that moment I realized that something was wrong. I had the strangest feeling that something inside me was not right, kind of like the guy from "Alien" just before the little monster came out of his belly.
My stomach was rumbling and rumbling and all of a sudden it came to me....I had to crap. I raised up rather quickly and informed my father of the impending damage that was about to take place in my pants, and as I informed him, little beads of sweat started to roll down my face because I knew I had to travel the 345 steps down to the bottom of the building.
I very quickly and very cautiously proceeded down the steps, making sure my bad situation didn't become worse. When I finally reached the bottom, I began the task of looking for a place to relieve myself. In a building that was no longer being used and scheduled to be demolished, one would imagine that there are a number of places to let nature run its course. I looked around and found the perfect place.
Now, being a big guy with a bum leg, bending over was just not an option, so I had to improvise. I pulled down my pants and backed my rear end up to the wall and made it look like I was sitting on an invisible chair.....and let 'er rip.
Now, shortly after I was "sitting" on my imaginary toilet, I hear a strange noise that sounded like someone was shooting the metl behind me.....I yelled out, "who's there?" but no one answered. I heard the noise again, but this thime it was louder, louder even than the noise generated from the demolition equipment running in the building. I yelled out, "HEY, WHO'S THERE?" but still no one answered. So, as I sat there humming a tune, I started hearing what sounded like a machine gun going off. Pop.... poppoppop.... ....poppoppoppoppoppop.....and all of a sudden, the entire wall gave way.....causing me to fall right to the ground right on top of my recent deposit.
And if that wasn't bad enough, and I don't know if you know this or not, but foundries are VERY DIRTY AND DUSTY. Once the wall let loose and fell, all of the dust and dirt on top fell....you know where....right on top of me. Not only was my robust posterior covered in crap, but my entire body was covered in black soot....
This is a true story, and every time I tell it, whomever is hearing it almosts wets themselves with laughter. I guess at the time I didn't think it was funny, and after almost 7 years, I still don't think it is funny!!!
Signed,
The Demo Man
Keep 'em coming....
Blawgerman
Toeing the Line......
Toeing the Line......
This little piggy went to the market......
This little piggey went home..........
This little piggy had roast beef........
and this little piggy hit the ottoman and got dislocated!
Ouch.
That's right. Maybe God doesn't want me to blog.....Maybe fate has turned her face away from me.....Maybe I'm just a clod that jammed his bare foot into an ottoman......
You know, after you do something stupid, you usually have the opportunity to review your actions to see if there had been a way to avoid your stupidity. In my case, I was coming in from the hot tub in bare feet. The cat was, as usual, standing right in my way. I stepped around him as a courtesy and slammed my foot into the ottoman. I have now made a note to myself -- stepping on a cat will not dislocate your toe.
I heard a popping sound like a rubber band. I hopped on one foot, cursing cats, ottomans, and toes........(yes, the sight of a 300 pound man hopping on one foot would have been worthy of You-Tube)......Then I looked at my toe. Not my little toe, which is the toe of choice for such things.....but my next toe in. How did I hit that one to the exclusion of the others? But the more important question was why was that toe sticking out in the wrong direction over my little toe?
I did not ponder too long. Having had dislocated fingers in the past, I simply reached down and popped the wayward digit back in place. Sounds simple and painless. Well, sound can be deceiving.
One generally does not realize the relative significance of your fourth toe. It has no real function. I mean, I've seen some people wear rings on it, but that is about it. I don't even think that I have ever thought much about that toe other than the occasional clipping of its nail. But an event like this makes you realize that, indeed, it must do something, because this morning I am walking like my grandmother on a bad arthritis morning.
So, if indeed God wants me to quit Blogging, I write this as a memorial should something even worse happen because my toe episode did not accomplish the task. If there is no divine reason for the injury, I write simply to share my pain and the realization that one should never try to avoid stepping on a cat.
Toeing the line,
Blawgerman
This little piggy went to the market......
This little piggey went home..........
This little piggy had roast beef........
and this little piggy hit the ottoman and got dislocated!
Ouch.
That's right. Maybe God doesn't want me to blog.....Maybe fate has turned her face away from me.....Maybe I'm just a clod that jammed his bare foot into an ottoman......
You know, after you do something stupid, you usually have the opportunity to review your actions to see if there had been a way to avoid your stupidity. In my case, I was coming in from the hot tub in bare feet. The cat was, as usual, standing right in my way. I stepped around him as a courtesy and slammed my foot into the ottoman. I have now made a note to myself -- stepping on a cat will not dislocate your toe.
I heard a popping sound like a rubber band. I hopped on one foot, cursing cats, ottomans, and toes........(yes, the sight of a 300 pound man hopping on one foot would have been worthy of You-Tube)......Then I looked at my toe. Not my little toe, which is the toe of choice for such things.....but my next toe in. How did I hit that one to the exclusion of the others? But the more important question was why was that toe sticking out in the wrong direction over my little toe?
I did not ponder too long. Having had dislocated fingers in the past, I simply reached down and popped the wayward digit back in place. Sounds simple and painless. Well, sound can be deceiving.
One generally does not realize the relative significance of your fourth toe. It has no real function. I mean, I've seen some people wear rings on it, but that is about it. I don't even think that I have ever thought much about that toe other than the occasional clipping of its nail. But an event like this makes you realize that, indeed, it must do something, because this morning I am walking like my grandmother on a bad arthritis morning.
So, if indeed God wants me to quit Blogging, I write this as a memorial should something even worse happen because my toe episode did not accomplish the task. If there is no divine reason for the injury, I write simply to share my pain and the realization that one should never try to avoid stepping on a cat.
Toeing the line,
Blawgerman
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