You Guys Remember When I Lost My Arm That One Time?
Yo yo yo! What’s up, guys? Guess who’s got himself an extra ticket to the Spacehog concert this coming Saturday? That’s right: this guy right here! Now the only question being: which of you guys wants to go with me? You can go fisticuffs for it, you can bribe me with riches if you like; all of these options I will accept grandly. I expect no less than to be showered in either the graces of your humility or the physical spoils of your wanton eagerness; after all, this is Spacehog we’re talking about here.
Now, before you all begin clamoring and clawing at each other, there is one small caveat I must mention briefly. Just real quick–you guys remember that time I lost my arm? Well, it—what? What do you mean you don’t remember?
Randy, hold on. I’ll get back to the ticket in a minute. I find it kind of odd that you guys seemingly don’t call to mind that one time I lost my arm. April 8th, 1994 (the same year that Spacehog formed, by the way)…taking a field trip to see the Liberty Bell…anyone? Anyone?
Randy, you’re just saying you remembering so I will give you the ticket. I can see it in your eyes. No, I want you guys recalling this shit. Out of the four of you, two of you were there that fateful day. The school bus… speeding along Kelly drive… the sunlight… the spring air… my beautiful, supple, lithe arm sticking out the window to the hilt…
Nothing? Haha, ok, now, fellas. I am starting to feel kind of foolish, when it should be you feeling ashamed. It..hahaha…it was kind of a life-changing moment for me. But that’s cool. It’s not like, for instance, Dave, that after my arm snapped backwards like a rotted twig in a cold January wind and I started screaming and brought my stump back inside the bus and sprayed your face in my squirting arm-blood as the bus careened out of control and we crashed….no, I can see how you might have blocked that out. How very traumatic for you, Dave.
Guys, this wasn’t a disposable plastic fork or a grape that rolled under the couch. This was my fucking arm, ok? Randy! In a minute, for Chrissake!
How about the weeks following that incident? Did anyone wonder why the principal, Mr. Skiffington, was parading me around to various schools and holding assembly meetings to tell other kids not to do what I did? I was a wounded goat on tour.
Blank faces. All of you. Tsk tsk tsk. Hey, maybe you’re right. Maybe I am making too big a deal about this. All I wanted to say about the ticket was that, well, if you guys remembered what happened to my arm, I could just say that last week it happened again. Not exactly like before, but enough to pretty much just highlight, copy, paste; and whoever is going with me, I need you to drive. That’s all.
Randy, what do you mean, “nevermind”???