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October 4, 2005

Volume 7, Issue 4

Exactly why were we never supposed to run with scissors?

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Is this a pair of scissors which I see before me?
Let me slip my thumb and forefinger in thy dainty holes,
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
The breast that didst nurse me tenderly bid me warning about thy dangers; the same haggardly remembrance doth now compel me to ruin. "Run not with the blades. 'Tis all fun and fancy 'til one's eye hath one lost." Unsissify me! I grab thee! Hence runneth I. Alas and for woe!
The sleeping dog in my path hast tripped me! Out damned spot! The blades pierceth me thither.

Posted by: Eric at October 4, 2005 4:22 AM · Permalink

That was a hoot, but what's a thither?

Posted by: hnumpah at October 4, 2005 7:07 AM · Permalink

I ate the paste, and nothing bad happened.

I stuck a safety pin in the wall outlet, and got a nasty jolt and tripped the breaker in the basement.

I ate the crayons when no one was watching, and my mother panicked and took me to the doctor when I started peeing orange.

I took my mittens off for a snowball fight, and ended up in the hospital with severe frostbite on my hands. Cold weather still makes them ache now, years later.

I teased the dog next door, and got seven stitches.

But I never ran with the scissors.

Posted by: hnumpah at October 4, 2005 7:45 AM · Permalink

No payoff with the scissors! Uggh!

Posted by: Eric at October 4, 2005 1:04 PM · Permalink

Dear Mom:

I’m not sure why you sent me to this new summer camp. I hate it so far. Let me tell you what’s happened.

Day One, two of the kids in my cabin disappeared during the swim across the lake. Timmy swears he saw alligators there.

On the second day, Billy was taken away in a black station wagon after a radio somehow fell into the hot tub.

And today I find somebody signed me up for the sharp scissors relay race.

Next year I do not want to come here to the Susan Smith Summer Camp.

Love,

Jimmy

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at October 4, 2005 6:22 PM · Permalink

"Don't run with scissors." His mother's voice seemed to echo with a sound remembered but not heard.

All his thoughts were fuzzy, his brain seemed to be wrapped in gauze. His consciousness hovered a few inches behind the back of his head.

Distantly, he felt the cold metal buried in his gut. Whenever he tried to move, he slammed back inside his own head due to the increased pain.

He felt something warm and wet in the front of his pants. "Always wear clean underwear," he heard his mother say, "in case you're in an accident."

"Doesn't matter now, mom."

Posted by: cranky-d at October 5, 2005 12:16 AM · Permalink