Funny Ways to Hurt Yourself

  1. How you hurt yourself.
    Why it’s funny.
  2. Broke your ankle playing Dance Dance Revolution
    You are 24 and at Dave and Buster’s for a friend’s birthday party. You’re the designated driver and very sober. Oh and you began competitive dancing and training when you were 6 years old. That’s right you broke your ankle playing DDR.
  3. Hand laceration requiring stitches from a toothbrush.
    You were going backpacking and wanted everything to be as light as possible. Your brilliant idea was to break the handle off of your toothbrush to save like 4 ounces. Unfortunately, the handle doesn’t cleanly break. Instead it splinters and makes a shiv that would be suitable for establishing dominance should you be sent to prison. It slices through your palm like a light saber through an arm at the local cantina.
  4. You break shatter your elbow sort of playing softball.
    What’s so funny about a broken bone while playing sports. Nothing, unless you weren’t actually playing. Instead you were warming up so you wouldn’t get hurt playing.
  5. Suffering repeated jostling in a vehicle after breaking your elbow
    You drove you and your brother to the softball game where you broke your elbow. You need to be driven to the emergency room, but your car has a standard transmission and your brother has never driven a stick. Every time he start from a complete stop, the car shakes like a mechanical bull from Urban Cowboy.
  6. You pull a muscle in your neck.
    You pulled the muscle because you were wearing a hard hat to protect your head from bumps against the bottom of an isolated steel floor you were working under. Unfortunately the hard hat makes you 3.5 inches taller and you keep bumping the hard hat on the floor. This makes you snap your head forward as an autonomic response and you effectively give yourself whiplash.
  7. You trip over your own two feet and fall really hard on both knee caps.
    You do this while performing a Harold on stage. A Harold is an improvised performance, so no one really knows what is supposed to be happening. Unfortunately your fall looks like it could part of you advancing the story and it takes a minute for people to realize that you aren’t acting and indeed are in excruciating pain.
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Master of the Corks

Good evening. I’m Sonji Artemis. It’s an odd day when I can get away from my work to attend something like this. See the prime dinner hours are when I usually have to work. That right, almost every night from 4:30-9:00 I’m at the restaurant selecting the perfect wine for the finest meals in all of Yellow Knife.

Born and raised in Yellow Knife. I didn’t even leave for my sommelier training.

Who trained me? Here in Yellow Knife? No one of course. That’s what makes me so special as a sommelier. I’m self trained. I like to think of it as a gift from god, but a lot of the young kids call it a mutant super power. It all started when I was about 7. I had this bad habit of laving half finished juice boxes in weird locations. under my bed; way in the back of the sock drawer; the small storm drain by the school bus stop.

No. I don’t know why I did it. My therapist, that’s Tom Coogle – the guy at the hardware store with the big ears, tells me I do know but I am withholding my feelings by not stating why I do it. But then again, he’s a self trained therapist. His real skills are in cutting keys and sorting nuts and bolts.

Yes. I know I’m self trained too. It’s different for a therapist and a sommelier. Selecting the perfect wine for an occasion is an art, by therapy is a science. I mean if Ted and Gina are having marital troubles you can’t just suggest that they try baking cookies together to save their marriage. You’ve got to give Ted and Gina something concrete. Otherwise they are going to divorce and take up two of the limited number of homes here in good ol’ Yellow Knife instead of one. If I could only get them to come into the diner.

Isn’t it obvious? I’d select the perfect wine for them. Them. THEM. Wines are a bit magical in that regard. They heal. They unite. They make us all realize that we are better off as a people drinking wines together. Beer, our national beverage, is the polar opposite.

No. Polar wasn’t used as a joke. At least intentionally. Getting back to beer. You show me a depressed tar sands pipe fitter and I’ll show you a metric ton of Labatt’s Blue empties under his bed. Beer drives people apart. Wine brings them together. Yes that’s what I need to do. I’m going to find the perfect wine to get Ted and Gina back on the trail to life long bliss.


Sonji Artimis is a tall snooty white male. He speaks with a strong Canadian accent. Sonji holds his head high and literally looks down his nose as he speaks to you. His body language is very reserved and stoic. He doesn’t hold his hands in a relaxed way, he holds them in formal way that is almost exhausting to watch. You may find yourself focusing on his hands as you talk to him. You try to anticipate when they will move, but alas, they never do.


Sonji likes to say, “It’s an art.” Anything that he can say this about is a good thing. It’s nemesis is, “That’s a science.” Anything that he says that about is the enemy and he holds it in disdain.

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My God, it’s full of stars – Part I

The pillar was solid black. It reflected no light. You didn’t actually see it. You saw the outline of what it obscured. Only after I touched it did I realize that there was a texture to the surface. It felt like it had the grooves of an Ancient Greek column in front of the Parthenon in Athens. Or wherever the Parthenon is.

I wasn’t certain what the column was for, but I couldn’t help staring at it. The sense of emptiness drew me in and made memories come. Memories I didn’t know I had. I remembered my first night here on Neptune. My official paperwork called it a posting. My duty assignment. The reality was it was an incarceration. Neptune station was a comm relay for the outer solar system. It was a solo posting. My job was to keep the machinery of the relay working.

What struck me as the most ironic was the silence. Literal terabytes of information flowed through Neptune Station every second, but none of it was with me or for me. The lack of outside communication made the quietness of the station profound. Noise in the mechanical systems is inefficient; something out of tolerance; a portent of fault. My job was to eliminate the noise.

Fortunately, I was good at my job and this left me with time to explore. Three months in was when I found the pillar. I wanted to call it a palantir, but the moment I logged it, the AI responsible for the intellectual property of the Tolkien estate initiated a net wide cease and desist. So I settled for the pillar. In fact I almost mis-spelled it, but auto-correct handled the problem for me.

It’s been 250 years since the mega corp, Microsoft, developed autocorrect. We have pocket sized AIs; FTL travel; drugs that extend life indefinitely; yet we don’t have the ability to develop a useful autocorrect system. But I digress.

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Regarding Astrology

I need to start by saying that I don’t believe anything about Astrology. I’m often times surprised at the revelation of friends who place stock in it. People that I otherwise consider intelligent and well read believe that the position of the sun, moon, and stars can somehow predict their life’s events.

Maybe it the age of the…the…art? I’m not even certain what the right word is for it. I have a hard time calling it a science. I suppose I shouldn’t, have a hard time calling it that. Science isn’t about math, atoms, and falling steel balls. Science is about applying a systematic process to evaluating observations. Have enough people been systematically (and accurately) been predicting people’s events and behaviors to genuinely make this a science?

Astrology certainly has enough time in the game. It’s been going on for centuries. What if it was an early attempt at a social science. A way of categorizing social behaviors and correlating them with something that was measurable and consistent; the position of the stars and planets. These observations and predictions were passed from generation to generation. Memories remembered the successes and permitted the failures to fade. Astrologists became important central figures in their communities. Communities that had no seat of science.

These pillars of the community created archetypes to portray behaviors. Aries – a free spirited friend; Taurus – the stubborn foundation; Gemini – the bold adventurer; Cancer – the appreciative council; Leo – the optimistic visionary; Virgo – the wise problem solver; Libra – the faithful friend; Scorpio – the passionate warrior; Sagittarius – the observant analyst; Capricorn – vibrant with life; Aquarius – the wanderer; and Pisces – the care giver.

But these archetypes might not be as applicable in the world today. The passionate warrior, the bold adventurer? More like today we need the IT guru or the social justice warrior. There has to be more.

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