My War With the Inanamates

When I was just a tender young lad it had become apparent to me that the inanimate world had declared unconditional war upon my person. When ever and where ever I happened to find myself the inanimates would patiently wait for the right moment and leap forth to inflict grievous bodily harm upon my person. Every corner, knob, step, curb or lump, no matter how inoffensive it seemed, would wait for the perfect moment to ambush me.

Door knobs would attack my elbow as I passed by. Wrinkles in the carpet would reach out and entangle my feet causing me to enter rooms in a less than dignified manner. Doorways would somehow become smaller in order to concuss my still forming head bone. But, up until the incident that compels me to write this monograph I had never, in my wildest nightmares, imagined that the inanimate world was determined in it’s efforts to bring about my personal destruction.

In order to lay the groundwork for this tale of ultimate horror I must first illuminate for you the circumstances that transported me to that place and time of my attempted annihilation. When I was but a callow youth of nineteen, I and my friends would find ourselves, upon occasion, with nothing to do. And as is often the case we would invent diversions to liven up our otherwise dull and empty lives. So we came to the conclusion that it would be a grand idea to arm ourselves with various weapons of personal destruction and than proceed to beat the shit out of each other.
With this goal in mind we set about arming ourselves with a number of fiendish devices of a medieval nature. Broadswords of padded wood, arrows tipped with padding, shields, helms, grieves, and gauntlets to protect ourselves. Thus armed we journeyed to the Idaho desert where lay The Missile Silos!

The Missile Silos were an abandon ICBM complexes between Mountain Home and Boise Idaho. How this wondrous world was discovered is a mystery but it was well known to me and my cohorts and had been explored by us on numerous occasions. It was a labyrinth that we could do battle among ourselves without wiser heads interfering.

The rules were simple. There where no rules. There where no teams. It was every man or woman for themselves. Alliances where made and broken as the need arose. It was in this manner the Plan was formed. I and a fellow compatriot would team up and attempt to lure unsuspecting prey into our cleverly contrived trap.

In the architecture the was the Missile Silos was a large concrete pipe that lead to the outside world. Said pipe was approximately five feet in diameter and was a perfect place in which to lure our victims to there untimely demise. It was decided that my compatriot would stand outside and entice a fellow combatant into the open where I, having placed myself strategically upon the top of said pipe, lay in ambush ready to fire a pillow tipped arrow into they back of the poor doomed soul.

All went according to plan with the minor exception that no one happened to wonder by. As we were both of a destructive mind it was decided that we would quit our current position and return to the labyrinth in search of more lively game

As I found myself atop the pipe and having determined that the fastest and most economical way to descend to terra firma would be to slide down the side of the pipe I positioned myself in the logical position to accomplish this task. With my buttocks placed upon the pipe and my legs extended I pushed my self off with the assumption that I would land safely at my destination. I had made a grievous error. I had forgotten my age old battle with the Inanimate’s.

Unbeknownst to me these forces had anticipated my moves decades before-hand and had clever placed in my path an object of such a diabolical nature that no right think person could have conceived of it. Over the ensuing years the natural elements of wind and rain had eroded the pipe to such an extent that a piece of re-bar had been exposed and over time had been honed into a miniature scimitar that had cleverly disguised itself to look like and innocuous clump of dirt. The design of this heinous weapon was tailor made to inflect a grievous wound on the very area that I had placed in its path.

As I slid down the pipe I felt, a sharp and sudden pain in my derriere. Once again on solid ground I conducted a cursory inspection of my rump by running my hand over the affected area. To my horror my pinky found a two inch long by a quarter inch deep furrow gouged into my tender tucious.

Finding myself with a finger in a hole that was not put there by natural selection I turned to my companion and said “Dave go get my brother I think I hurt myself” It was said in a calm voice that denoted my bravery and sheer intestinal fortitude in such a dire situation.

Dave, being of a curious nature, inquired as to the nature of my injury. As I began to describe the gaping wound that I had incurred it became apparent that he had not gleaned the nature of my contusion and exhibited signs of mirth in the form of hollowing gales of laughter. Somewhat offended, I again instructed him to enter the bowels of the Silos and retrieve my brother post haste. Chuckling in an unseemly manner, Dave went in search of my brother.

As I waited for my rescuers I began to contemplate my predicament. What once had been unblemished perfection now contained a gruesome lesion that would forever follow me through the remaining days of my life. It was a sobering thought.

While these thought ran through my mind my brother arrived and quickly took charge of the situation. Instructing me to “drop trou” and place myself in a prone position I eagerly lowered my trousers as there were ladies of the female persuasion present and I was more then happy to expose my beautiful baniqulers to their admiring gaze.

Upon his examination of my laceration I heard a gasp from my brother. He than instructed me to hand over my knife, which I innocently did. This was a bowie knife with a blade approximately seven inches long. Though its edge was rather dull its point was exceedingly pointy. With this less than ideal surgical instrument in hand my brother proceeded to saw away at my tattered undergarments.

As I watched in horror at my brother furiously whittling away at my skivvies it suddenly became apparent that he, not being satisfied with the job I had done, was determined to add to the outrage by ramming seven inches of steel into my ass. I held my breath and hoped that this was not his intention.

Finally, with a grateful sigh of relief form all involved, the offending apparel was removed. With this life saving device in hand my deliverer began to administer emergency triage on my perforated posterior. Finally, after many attempts, he queried with puzzlement, “How do you tourniquet an ass.”

With this question lingering in the air I took the shorts from my befuddled brother, waded them into a ball, and placed the on my gushing gash thus stopping the seepage of my precious bodily fluids. I than proceeded up the hill to an awaiting vehicle. After seeing me safely ensconced in the passenger seat my brother leapt behind the steering wheel and roared onto the road and towards the hospital.

As the speeding vehicle raced down the freeway, weaving in and out of traffic I glanced over and was stunned to find that my sainted brother had been replaced by a crazed doppelganger. I gazed in horror as this demon cursed our fellow travelers while blasting away with the horn. I assumed that this was done in order to get me to medical treatment but I found I was not so much interested in speed as I was in not being tossed willy-nilly about the interior of the car.

Being flung from one buttock to the other was in no way relieving my suffering. I also assumed, by this maddened displayed that I was more injured than I thought and that my sainted brother was driving in such a manner as to outrun death itself. As it happened and we arrived safely at the hospital not once encountering death, unless it was at the hands of my brother’s evil doppelganger.

After this rather horrifying ride of impending doom and emerging safely at the emergency room door, my brother slammed on the breaks, again causing some discomfort to his injured charge, leaped from the car and ran into the emergency room yelling, “My brother needs a gurney”. Upon hearing this plaintive cry the hospital staff sprang to life and rushed towards the door, shoving me aside in search of what to them must have been nothing short of a mangled wretch barely clinging to life. I meekly raised my hand and told the breathless staff that it was I for whom the gurney tolled. The disappointed looks I received where so heart rendering that I endeavored to do a more thorough job upon my next visit.

So thus I was saved from near doom at the hands of the inanimate world. All ended happily with but one exception. As I set down to write this my middle finger on my right had was brutally attacked by a door knob and the wall. Thus the war rages on.