Well, it’s been a while. Been a while since old Captain Catastrophe has
shown his little bleeding face around here.
And I figured yesterday I would have one for you for sure. I went to
Great America and did all sorts of risky things. You know, stand in line
for hours at a time, and then stand in another line, and then another
one. But didn’t injure myself much at all. Uneventful, even. Yeah, I got
to go on the new roller coaster, Ragin’ Cajun, and that was a lot of fun
and all, but not so much as a scratch.
And don’t worry, Chris, I won’t tell about your injury. Though I would
love to.
Anyway, the Captain comes home today and decides to do the lawn. Again.
Nice. Easy. No problems.
Kind of wondering if this is still me.
Then this stupid schmuck you know and love turns on the computer. What
could be safer? Maybe getting a glass of lemonade, right? I mean how
could you hurt yourself like that? That would truly take a warped genius
to pull that off.
I fill the glass from the pitcher of some of that Raspberry Ice Tea I
like and it’s tasting real good after mowing the lawn. Now, I’m counting
that as exercise by the way, so I don’t feel guilty for watching “North
Shore” later on Tivo. That and running around at lunch, which was way
more than usual. So it counts, durn it!
You know how glass gets slippery when it is wet, even if it’s just
spilled Raspberry Ice Tea? Yeah. Glass fell right out of my hand, like
I’m a frigging toddler. Where do you think it would land? That’s right.
Right on the toe of the foot that I’ve been having problems with. Oddest
part: the glass didn’t break. Very weird. I almost did, but the glass
didn’t break.
Anyway, if you needed more evidence I’m the most uncoordinated human
being on the face of the planet–there you go.
Captain Catastrophe
Month: June 2004
Captain Catastrophe Lawn’s Trimming Misadventure
After a hard day of being a standard superhero, the Captain went home.
On the way home, I stopped at my barbar, Gunther. He had a thankfully
short line and did a nice job trimming back my unwieldly mane. Of
course, I still believe I can feel the hair being cut like any five year
old can tell you–but I braved it as my follicles screamed out a chorus
of doom. It’s what they do.
As I drove home, I noticed most of the young men around town had
something I didn’t. Can you guess what that is? No–I don’t mean a
girlfriend. That’s right. A bicycle. A working bicycle.
Jerks.
I decided to be a big man about it, though, and avoid running them over.
Got home and knew I had to do some sort of outdoor activity (you know,
like writing you all an e-mail) to avoid become a pasty couch potato.
Not that there is anything wrong with it. Since like that is, indeed,
what I am and all. Still.
Got out the walk behind mower and did to the lawn what that demented
barbarian, er, barber, did to my hair. I could actually see the grass
blades move out of the way as my mulcher of death mercilessly plowed
through the jungle where my front yard used to be. Thank goodness grass
doesn’t breathe.
This was my first time mowing without a breath mask on in probably five
years. I am fiercely alergic to cut grass. Or work, as you probably
already know. I figured, hey, this mower mulchs so it cuts stuff up real
fine.
Yeah–cuts it up into nice breathing in size pieces–that’s what it
does, all right.
And that’s what I did and as I type this, coughing and weezing and
through red, blurry eyes reading the screen, I noticed that the
Jaegermeister I used to try to clear up my breathing isn’t working this
time. Probably shouldn’t snort it, though, should I?
I’m still amazed how I manage to survive with these incredible skills of
mine.
By the way, I noticed recently that I never told the origin story of
Captain Catastrophe. Let me know if you want to learn how the Captain
nearly barbequed himself one time at a major lakefront festival.
–Available for safety meetings as the “Do Not” guy. Whoops. Misspelled
that. “Donut” guy. There we go.
Captain Catastrophe
On the way home, I stopped at my barbar, Gunther. He had a thankfully
short line and did a nice job trimming back my unwieldly mane. Of
course, I still believe I can feel the hair being cut like any five year
old can tell you–but I braved it as my follicles screamed out a chorus
of doom. It’s what they do.
As I drove home, I noticed most of the young men around town had
something I didn’t. Can you guess what that is? No–I don’t mean a
girlfriend. That’s right. A bicycle. A working bicycle.
Jerks.
I decided to be a big man about it, though, and avoid running them over.
Got home and knew I had to do some sort of outdoor activity (you know,
like writing you all an e-mail) to avoid become a pasty couch potato.
Not that there is anything wrong with it. Since like that is, indeed,
what I am and all. Still.
Got out the walk behind mower and did to the lawn what that demented
barbarian, er, barber, did to my hair. I could actually see the grass
blades move out of the way as my mulcher of death mercilessly plowed
through the jungle where my front yard used to be. Thank goodness grass
doesn’t breathe.
This was my first time mowing without a breath mask on in probably five
years. I am fiercely alergic to cut grass. Or work, as you probably
already know. I figured, hey, this mower mulchs so it cuts stuff up real
fine.
Yeah–cuts it up into nice breathing in size pieces–that’s what it
does, all right.
And that’s what I did and as I type this, coughing and weezing and
through red, blurry eyes reading the screen, I noticed that the
Jaegermeister I used to try to clear up my breathing isn’t working this
time. Probably shouldn’t snort it, though, should I?
I’m still amazed how I manage to survive with these incredible skills of
mine.
By the way, I noticed recently that I never told the origin story of
Captain Catastrophe. Let me know if you want to learn how the Captain
nearly barbequed himself one time at a major lakefront festival.
–Available for safety meetings as the “Do Not” guy. Whoops. Misspelled
that. “Donut” guy. There we go.
Captain Catastrophe