When the left hand forgets what the right hand is doing

So I had a handful of peanuts in my left hand, and a few treats for the Divine Canine in my right hand. I should have double checked, because after a couple of chomps on the peanuts I realized that I’d put dog treats in both hands. :smack: :eek:

I’m trying to get to the bathroom to spit out the mess in my mouth, but the dog thinks I still have her treats and is doing “down dog good dog” right in front of me and won’t budge.

ick, ack, blechhhhh

You got off easy. True story: Decades ago there was a character on the island of Chuuk (in Micronesia, in the middle of the tropical Pacific) with a stump instead of a right arm.

It wasn’t always so; he had been born with two normal arms. But one day he was dynamite fishing and drinking beer at the same time. Alas, he threw the beer can at the reef.

I noticed on the dog shows that those handlers have treats in their mouths. Yuk!!


I can beat the; my right brainside and my left brainside dont speak to each other anymore…lots 'o fun


If they were plain Milkbones, that’s not too bad (I ate a couple as a kid, because I was curious. Not bad, though certainly not good; mainly really bland). But anything with a coating, or mushier, or stronger tasting (like I imagine kibble to be)? Blecccchhh!

These treats are about the size of an M&M, soft texture for small, old and mostly toothless dogs, and vile smelling. Also vile tasting as I found out. But she’s nuts (no pun intended) about them.:rolleyes:

Less extreme, but… I remember one 4th of July when I was a kid that the neighbor dude was lighting inch-and-halfer firecrackers with a cigarette. At one point (as might have been predicted) he tossed his ciggy and almost put the firecracker to his lips. :eek:

Almost. (Which is why I can relate this story without shuddering.) He recognized what he’d done and hurriedly flung the cracker away from his face before it popped. Went off a foot or so from his chest; apparently, no harm done. But a near thing.

Back in USAF one of the ways we competed for macho points was to eat disgusting stuff.

There were a couple of guys in my squadron who’d really mastered the self control to ignore taste, texture, and what it was while calmly chewing & swallowing some ghastly but ultimately (mostly) harmless stuff. You got style points for how good your poker face was.

One day somebody challenged the champ to a Snausage-eating contest. https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=snausage. Back in the day they didn’t have that breading-like wrapper and looked much like cocktail franks or a small slice off a Slim Jim dried meat snack. So how bad could they be?

They were so far beyond awful that our reigning champ gagged on the first one. Which, next to barfing, is the most embarrassing DQ possible in that game.

Whatever the OP ate by mistake, make damn sure not to do it again with Snausages.

Even less extreme - friends were lighting fire-crackers and tossing them. I wanted to do one. Known as a bit of a klutz, they found the firecracker with the longest fuse so everyone would have plenty of time to run if I screwed something up.

My buddy lit it, I cocked my arm to toss it (putting the firecracker close to my right and his left ear), and ‘KAPOW!’ the damn thing went off, leaving us both temporarily deaf in one ear, and me with lightly scorched fingers (fortunately I has holding it with just my thumb and index finger). Best guess is that a random spark fell into the body of the firecracker.

In my teen-era “gang” we had one such kid.

I swear the only reason the rest of us had so few injuries vs. the crazy shit we did was all the injuries this poor kid absorbed trying to do half that stuff.

We honestly weren’t trying to pick on him. Stuff just happened to him. A lot.