We'll Put Ya Down With A Great Long Needle!

*** continued from previous post ***


"Any who," Carl said, not 'how' but 'who', "yeah. That biker got messed up pretty good. And they had to wind up putting her down. Real shame."

Again, what the hell? They shoot the wounded up here? That seemed a tad harsh. Even for people on a motorcycle. What if I got a splinter or something?

"Yeah. Shame." Mark added, "I hope she didn't have cubs."

Oh good. They put the bear down, not the biker. I filed away several taunts and insults that sprang to my tongue for future reference. Not that the death of a bear is a good thing by any means. You know I love all wildlife. Well, as long as said wildlife isn't chewing on my head. Even then, it has to be chewing pretty hard. Remember how our big ol’ Newfoundland Barkley chewed on my head all the time? But it was a chew full of love. And slobber. And a really atrocious odor. But mostly love. Mostly.

The table, minus your mother and I, went on to discuss every motorcycle accident they had ever seen, heard, read about, dreamt, or fantasized. I shall spare you the details, but most of it ended with decapitation. Even if the biker simply fell over in the parking lot while sitting still. Evidently, and this was a good thing to know, in Canada a rider could trip on their own shoelace and their head would spontaneously eject from their body like cork from a bottle of dropped Champagne.

I blame it on the metric system and their architecture. It's just not natural. You don't dally about with the laws of time and space like that without serious, serious consequences.

*** the journey continues ***