I'm a cypher, wrapped in an enigma, smothered in secret sauce. Also, my name is Kev and I own this here website.
Have you ever been minding your own business, doing your own thing, when you suddenly glance down and notice a scratch on your finger, hand or arm?
“How did that happen,” you will think to yourself.
For a moment, you’ll retrace your steps in your mind to see if you can figure out how the scratch came about, but inevitably you’ll give up and brush it off as no big deal.
Silly people.
It IS a big deal.
Would you be so quick to dismiss $5 disappearing from your wallet every so often? Would you be so “meh” to figure out why your co-workers kept asking if you liked the coffee and then walked away giggling? Would you shrug your shoulders at the mystery as to why you woke up every so often to find one of your organs removed?
Scratches without known origins are ciphers, wrapped in enigmas, smothered in a wide variety of secret sauces. They demand to be solved. And just so none of you think I’m all talk, allow me to walk the walk.
To the left is poor-quality photo of a scratch I noticed on my thumb when I sat down at my desk at work this morning. No, it didn’t hurt. I’m a tough, manly man. But thanks for asking.
How did this happen? Let’s retrace my steps:
Maybe I got it while getting out of bed in the morning. The good Lord knows getting out of bed is an arduous task for me, so perhaps in the fight to get my butt in gear I picked up a battle scar?
No, that couldn’t be it. Arduous task or not, the scratch wouldn’t have still been bleeding when I noticed it at work if I had gotten it two hours earlier. I have awesome blood-clotting skills, just so you know.
For that same reason, I can rule out the possibility of getting the scratch while at the gym. Besides, I would have noticed if one of those awkward body-building guys or scantily-clad “ladies” walked up to me and scratched my thumb. And I know my precious elliptical machine would never scratch me.
Could I have gotten the scratch while showering? I do love my Old Spice “Game Day” Body Wash, so I suppose it’s possible I got carried away and scrubbed too hard. But if that’s the case, wouldn’t I have multiple scars on various body parts?
Maybe I got it while preparing my morning cup of coffee. Could the scratch be a byproduct of opening up one too many packets of Splenda? Could pouring in a little “half and half” have caused a drop of piping-hot coffee to splatter onto my thumb and eat away at my precious (though manly) skin?
Since I know the scratch didn’t happen while grasping my barbed-wire steering wheel during my drive to work, I am left when only one possible conclusion:
Aliens, or possibly Obama, are stealing samples of my DNA and leaving behind scratches in the process. I can only assume the aliens, or Obama, are trying to clone a race of super-awesome humans. Yes, that must be it. It’s so obvious.
I just hope a race of cloned aliens (or cloned Obama — oooh, scary thought) don’t someday try to steal DNA samples from my clones. As the Michael Keaton movie Multiplicity clearly proved, a clone of a clone is not as sharp as…well…the original.
;-) 6.11.09 at 10:21 am:
O NO! The Obamagremlins are after you! Say it ain’t so!
You have my sympathies, mate.
I bump, bruise, and scratch my person all the time and am unable to remember how I did it. Well … the other day I fell UP some stairs while toting Allissa (who is, shall we say, perfectly capable of walking but I just enjoyed carrying her). I thought I had escaped serious injury but that night when I went to turn over in bed, I discovered that I had badly bruised my elbow and left knee. You never heard such moaning and groaning! *sound effects*
But in your case, I think what you did was, you inadvertently dropped (because who in their right mind would ADVERTENTLY drop something) your sunglasses onto the floor where they skittered six inches beneath the sofa (perhaps while moving?) and when you reached into that dank, dark space to retrieve said shades, a brown recluse spider (they are very stealthy, mate, and very quick), took a tasty nibble from that there thumb and is even now burping as a result of this impromptu but wholly delicious fast-food snack.
Didn’t you?
I say you did, and I hate to tell you this but there is now a 14% chance that you have contracted necrotizing fascitits (affectionately known in the brown recluse medical community as flesh-eating disease), and I am really sorry to have to disclose this next part but, hey buddy? I hope you were a binky-baby because if that’s the thumb you sucked as a kid, you have just increased your chances of losing that thumb by at least another 42%.
Do the math, my friend. Do the math.
Happily, brown recluses are especially reclusive in the State of Georgia, on account of they have a natural aversion to rainy nights, grits drawls, and moonlight through the pines.
Sooooooo … it probably WAS the barbed-wire steering wheel that did it. File that bad boy down and you’ll be good to go.
;-) 6.11.09 at 10:22 am:
Oh, mercy. I meant necrotizing FASCITIS … *embarrassed*
;-) 6.11.09 at 10:28 pm:
I am at a loss for words. There can only be 2 reason for this:
1. Your incredibly awesome blog post has left me speechless
2. Your incredibly handsome profile picture has stolen the words right from me mouth.
You’re welcome
;-) 6.12.09 at 11:26 am:
break it up kids
;-) 6.16.09 at 10:38 pm:
That happens to me sometimes too, but I’m way tougher about it! LOL
I’d also like to know how I get bug bites and don’t realize it until it starts itching! Ho does a bug bite me when I’m wide awake and I not know it? Especially when they end up on my FACE.
I must know.
;-) 6.23.09 at 6:09 pm:
*checks calendar* Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since your last post. I hope you didn’t have to amputate your finger because of the boo boo. Even if you did that is no excuse for not posting for this long. Unless you’re me or Allison.