torture is BACK on the table
August 25, 2008
You know how in some stories or movies there’s this moment toward the end where one character, who never really understood some other character, and hated them for something they did, or didn’t do, and he/she finally gets it, finally stands in their shoes for a second and something clicks, and suddenly the lightbulb goes on and they go “ohhhh, NOW I get it”?
Like in In Bruges, when Ralph Fiennes wants to kill Colin Farrell cuz Colin Farrell accidentally killed a little altar boy while he was killing the priest, and then in the last scene, suddenly Ralph Fiennes’ killer GETS it.
Or maybe, less graphically, your own kids finally teach YOU what your mom has been trying to say to you all these years–Being a parent is hard.
Well, I think now I understand Donald Rumsfeld.
Saturday, Kim and I took the motorcycles down from Suncrest and up Big Cottonwood Canyon to have a muffin at the Silver Fork Lodge. Kim was leading, and just as we’re midway through the S turns about halfway up the canyon, a mysterious force suddenly took a handful of lit matches and pressed them against my inner right thigh. Or, to look at it another way, the baby alien from Aliens apparently germinated in my THIGH instead of my chest, and chose the S turns of Big Cottonwood Canyon to emerge. Ouch.
OR. Or rather, a bee the size of my HEAD flew up my shorts and let loose the dogs of war. I’m telling you, I almost drove off the road and into the river.
I’m a grown man. I have, in fact, been stung before. But never by some kind of genetically enhanced battle hardened WAR bee. Oh my God! I smashed the sumbitch all over my leg, and, since I was driving a motorcycle, and nobody could hear me, screamed the rest of the way up the canyon.
I was SO ANGRY with that damned bee that I was actually sorry I had killed it. I wanted to bring it back to life, catch it, and kill it SLOWLY over a couple of days, first the right wing (ha), then the left, then the legs, you get the picture. I wanted to catch OTHER bees and kill them. When I got home, I went and bought Raid, and razed several innocent colonies on my roof.
It’s been two days, and my leg is actually swollen, sore, itchy, and feels like I got hit with a baseball bat.
Kim bought one of those bee traps, where the bees can get in, but they can’t get out. Ever.
That’s right, Bees! We’ve got our own little Guantanamo right here in the Anderson back yard. Bring it on. Tell your friends.
UPDATE: it’s been 4 days, and this is what it looks like (I’m telling you, this bee was MEAN):