Sabre Saw??'s ... NOT

[Ron Nossaman]

At 06:20 PM 8/31/98, you wrote:
>Ron Nossaman wrote:
>>You've already got the non-dropping part down. Practice practice practice.
>>Did I ever tell you how I broke by toe? %-)
>>
>> Ron 
>>
>
>
>This I gotta hear.
>
>Susan
>
>P.S. How many years do I have to practice non-dropping before I master it?
>I've already practiced, practiced, practic---- oops. ouch.
>
>Susan Kline
>P.O. Box 1651
>Philomath, OR 97370
>skline@proaxis.com		
>


Well, if (I) you must. 

Before I get into this, I must post the mandatory universal disclaimer... 

The following is a real life drama. Any resemblance to persons, or
situations known to you, or being you, but heretofore unacknowledged due to
a relatively healthy reluctance to expose yourself in public as a total
idiot, are not only coincidental, but entirely your own problem. I have
enough of my own.

It all started back when the earth was young. I was cruising down an
intermittently navigable street, through a section of town populated by a
rather seedy compendium of temporary ,and, at times, nebulous, ethereal,
and/or downright indistinct business endeavors, when I espied a band
saw-like object ensconced within the arguably inexactly defined confines of
a sort of "discard purgatory" of items presumably awaiting deliverance into
a more permanent state of abandonment at the landfill. Sensing a potential
serendipitous acquisitional opportunity, I hove-to in anticipation of
inquiring within as to the availability of the sighted salvage item. I
fairly quickly became aware of the presence of a plural representative (2)
of the local fauna, in the persons of a couple of random Billy-Bob-type
individuals whom I quickly ascertained were employees of the cattle carcass
dismemberment (Inc.) company in who's alley I had docked. Said
Billy-Bob-type individuals proved to be fellow brethren of the very finest
kind as they communicated to me that expedience, if not class, would be
admirably served if the aforementioned dismemberer of deceased cattle (et
all) were to inexplicably disappear sometime after 5:00 that very afternoon.
By a near miraculous coincidence, it did just exactly that, with a little
help getting it into the truck.

Back at the ranch, about 5 years later, and with a working motor installed,
I was quartering a large section of a log from a 9 acre Hackberry tree with
the purloined meat saw, when I lost control of the larger part (You know you
wouldn't let me get away with calling it a "half") of the barely liftable
portion of Birnum Wood, which promptly dived toward Dunsenane, and reduced
the second joint of one of my favorite toes to Malt-O-Meal. It has yet to
regain any flexibility, which could account, in part, and by sufficient
suspension of charity, for any apparent attitudinal predilections along
similar lines exhibited by my own self..  
    
There, for better or worse, dear heart, is the sad tale of the demise of the
second joint of the second pedal appendage (phalange) from the left, of your
own near, dear, and alternately annoying and insufferable Uncle Wookie.

Sob! That's it, but thank you for asking. I would have 8X10 color glossies,
but (even in rigor perpetuum) it still just looks like a toe pointed in a
slightly wrong direction. I don't suppose this is going to get me any
sympathy is it?

Re: how many years... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAhahahahahahaha....

 Ron