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Friday, May 21, 2004
Geez, I almost forgot how many days it's been since I posted. You know, you come in from work, look at the computer, sit down, and just stare at the screen, and never touch the keyboard. You think Oh, yeah, I'll do this later, it's only been a day. Well, it's been several, buddy, so stop the procrastination. And besides, Blogger's got pictures now! I have to experiment. I uploaded a picture to a hosting site last night, and published it (oh, hey, I did post something) but it was such a big jpg that it didn't work well. And besides, it was a picture of a scorpion that I killed on my couch the other morning. Yes, on the couch, under one of the accent pillows that I just happened to pick up before I sat down. So putting the picture of the dead scorpion on a website wasn't so bad, but I had picked it up and put it on a dividend check from my 401k, for some perspective as to size of bug. When I got looked at the post, there was my check number and amount, and name and address, right there on the Web for all to see. Idiot. I had a real battle with the scorpion. To start with, the scorpion had the element of suprise. It already knew there was a scorpion under the cushion on the couch, and I did not, which was a large tactical advantage to the bug. Also, if the scorpion were to suddenly see another scorpion, its reaction would probably be along the lines of "Hi, Bob." My reaction was to jump straight backwards on one foot, waving a couch cushion with one hand and slinging hot coffee all over the living room with the other. This was when the scorpion made its first fatal error--it did nothing. Moments such as this call for swift, decisive action in a battle, while the enemy is in a state of disarray and shock, and dripping hot coffee from his knee. The scorpion should have leapt at me from the couch, because at that moment he would have succeeded in killing a fully grown human using sheer terror. But the scorpion did nothing, maybe in fear of being scalded, but probably because it did not know that it was, indeed, about to be doomed. This is where the advantage shifted to me. I knew that the scorpion would now be smacked over the head with something large, like a Buick. The scorpion, seeing me dance backwards in my underwear, surely thought that it had scared away the large menace. The scorpion made a tactical error. Because I knew that the scorpion would not get out alive. I had spent the last few milliseconds scanning the room for a newspaper, or a magazine, or a shotgun. While my adversary gloated in his mistaken assumption of victory, I quickly chose a weapon, a mail-order catalog from The Company Store, where my wife once bought a set of sheets that I hated. I moved across the room and picked up the tabloid, which I quickly fashioned into a mace. The scorpion, not able to see over the arm of the couch, assumed that I had retreated. As he sat on the cushion, he took in a slow breath, and relaxed. That is when I appeared, looming overhead, and swept him off the couch cushion and onto the floor. My plan was to get him on solid ground, or at least onto the carpet, and then give him the big swat. The scorpion hit the floor in full battle position, tail raised and curled. He bolted. I quickly realized that I had given my opponent the advantage again. Had I swatted him on the couch, the game would have been over. I didn't do that because this was the first time in my life that I had faced a scorpion, and a nagging doubt had crept in--what if I hit him too hard on the couch? Then I'd have to clean scorpion poo off of the cushion, and who knows how disgusting that might be? Plus, I had already decided that I would not squish him. I would pose him and photograph him, much like a big game hunter would with a rhino. I was not sure how to put my foot on him for the pose, but that would come later. In other words, I got cocky. The scorpion made for the air duct in the floor with all his speed. I caught him. I ripped a blow down on him. He was done. Superior firepower had prevailed. I scooped him up with the magazine, deciding that I loved the sheets, and carried him into my office, where I placed him on the check. That was not my intentional placement, it was just that the check happened to be there. I got my camera out, and took a couple of shots. He was in remarkable shape for a dead scorpion. I turned the check a little for another angle. That is when the true nature of the scorpion came to light. The sneaky bastard was not dead. He turned straight at me, raising those little pincers, and throwing his tail up into the curl again. He might as well have been holding two sets of garden shears and a .50-caliber machine gun. I shot my chair straight backwards into the cadenza behind me, letting out a whoop that sounded like a cross between Carl ordering 'them french-fried pataters' and a yelping dog. I slung coffee all over the desk with my foot as it went by the cup. The scorpion made a death-lunge at the printer, a huge mistake since it was an innocent bystander, and also incapable of feeling pain. I grabbed the WMD, the Atlanta phone book. The rest is history.
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