I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Mr. Topper on 127 Hours

Last time I was in California, I found a little newspaper from San Luis Obisbo and I subscribed. This week it started running a column called "Ask Mr Topper",  I love it. I think you will too.

Dear Mr. Topper, Did you hear about that guy who got trapped by a big rock in the desert and had to chop his own arm off? I hear they made a movie about it. That guy must be pretty tough, huh?! 
  -   Sincerely, John B.

Dear John B., That's NOTHING. One time I was in a parking garage, after a day of back room poker, where I made 100K on one hand, (royal flush, baby) and I was putting the suitcase containing my winnings, in the trunk of my '65 Shelby Cobra, (Candy apple red; four hundred clear coats, it practically glows!) when a ninja, the mob had paid, sprang out and slammed the trunk on my hand.
     When the trunk slammed on my hand I dropped my keys, under the next car. I went to get my authentic folding Japanese Katana out of my shoulder holster, (It's ceramic so I can carry it on planes, I pity the terrorist who tries to hijack a plane I'm on), so I could fight off the ninja and pull my keys to me, but just then the mob boys showed up and attacked me, en masse. I killed, like 50 of them, but they eventually overwhelmed me and took my keys, and my katana, then they started up the car and started dragging me out of the parking structure.
    So, I used my Kung Fu (10th level Midnight-Black belt) and chopped my arm off at the wrist. Before I let go of the car, I cauterized my wrist on the tail pipe, so I didn't bleed to death. Then I ran back to the pile of dead guys, and chopped a guys hand off, whose hands were about the same size as mine. Then I ran to the nearest sporting goods store, it was about 5 miles away, and grabbed some fishing line and a hook and then I sewed that dead mobster's hand onto my arm. And now you can't even tell. And if I ever catch those mobsters, there is gonna be hell to pay, I can tell you that.