Yesterday I got a call from the Chief Deputy at the Sheriff’s Department.

“Hey, Scott. Have you talked to your brother this morning?”

“No…”

“Well, he’s been hurt in a pretty good fight. He’s got a torn tendon in his hand. He’ll be fine but he’s going to have to have surgery on it. He’s at the hospital right now.”

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So, my partner and I went to the hospital.

Like, two hundred miles an hour…

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He’s fine, his partner’s fine, but it was an eight minute fight before their backup arrived. They had to hit the guy with beanbag rounds from a shotgun, but all that did was make him mad. He was a little fireplug of a guy, a crazy drifter.
Strong.

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Said he thought they were indians come down from the hills for him. Thought they were going to scalp him.

He was fighting for his life.

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I love my little brother.

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Had a note on the table this morning from our daughter:

“Dear Mom and Dad-

I just saw the saddest commercial ever. omg! And I decided
that as a family, who has so much to give, we have to
sponsor a starving kid in Africa. It’s only like $18 and
they look all sad and hungry.

I want to save people, man!

This is the number, you can call and get a free info kit.
1-800-237-5256
http://www.children.org”

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Well, well.

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On my run this morning I passed a roadkill raccoon. It was lying on its side, curled up. Weeds and road trash had accumulated against it, blown by the wind and passing traffic. Ants were massed over the belly and face, and a couple of wasps were feeding around one of the eyes. There were some tears in the flesh where birds had fed.

A little roadside diner for scavengers.

Open twenty-four hours.

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I remember when Nate died on Six feet under and they buried him in a plain shroud. Unenbalmed. Dropped in a dirt hole.
That’s the way I’d like to go.

I hope somebody remembers that.

(Either that, or the Viking funeral thing, which would be even better. And I mean that, too.)

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Man, I can’t believe I’m gonna be dead.

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Have you been watching that string theory thing on Nova? Now they’re theorizing that on the most infintesimally small level that each point in space has this little everlasting gobstopper shape into which six or more extra dimensions are twisted and packed, and that the impossibly small strings wrap around these dimensions as they pulse and flex and depending on how they do that they manifest into electrons or protons or quarks with left, right, up, down spin, etc.

Okay, and here’s how small those strings are:

Take a single atom. Expand it to the size of the entire universe.

done?

Now here’s your string:

about as big as a tree.

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Man, everything is made out of an idea of something…..

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Yesterday somebody found my blog while searching for vibrating dicks!

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