Sure, but I feel a little bit cheated. A post that starts with the concepts of ‘Toe’ and ‘Mower’ really should deliver. I’m glad Scylla still has his toe (though not as much as he is), but a little embellishment (or even a lot) would be ok.
Monday afternoon I was trying to fix the throttle linkage on a gas powered tiller. I was able to run the engine just fine with my hand on the carburetor linkage, but using the throttle control on the handle killed it. So I bent over to take a closer look and my forehead hits the very hot muffler. Now, it’s a minor burn, maybe a 1 inch long, 1/4" wide red mark on my forehead, but if I were to write a thread about it you would be reading about what burning skull smells like.
A thread about a man, a mower, and his toe and it turns out he hasn’t even lost his nail (yet)? Lame.
Despite my patchy and timeworn background in French I wondered the same thing, and apparently it is. It may be different in France, but I’ve met few doctors whose tongues I’d want on me either, so that really doesn’t weigh in the dog’s favor.
Well, you know what a dog’s tongue has been licking, and you know that a doctor isn’t capable of doing that (to himself), so you have to wonder just what the doctor’s tongue has been licking.
I guess if the doctor has just been licking a dog’s genitals, it would be okay to have him lick your injured bits. But somehow I can’t see asking my doctor if he’s been licking a dog’s genitals. YMMV, of course.
My employer for the past 11 years buys me new steel-toed safety boots every year. After the first year, when I received my second new pair, my first pair was retired to home duty, and I started wearing them when doing chores around the house. At the time, I would not have bought my own steel-toed boots just for home use, but these days - especially after reading stories like the OP - I think I probably would (if my employer didn’t already keep me covered).
This OP made me laugh like a loon while simultaneously grimacing. I know toes hurt.
(When I was much younger I was messing around outside my house and for some reason decided to place an empty Coke can on top of the low brick wall around my garden and then see how far I could punt it. As you can probably foresee, I misjudged the height of the wall and slammed my toe into the top of the bricks. When I stopped hopping round and examined my big toe, it was about a quarter of an inch shorter than its erstwhile twin, and the nail was bent upwards by 90 degrees about halfway down its length.)
In your protracted absence, I actually received applications for the position of designated nemisis. When interviewing, they would ask who held the position before, and I say “Scylla”
“You mean the crazy motherfucker who waterboarded himself! What is the *matter *with you people?..”
