Even I thought this was funny

Les Stroud has advised me and thousands of others on the safest way to break a piece of wood. I watched, listened and understood, logically, the reasons for the technique. It involves levering a branch between two fixed points and bending it until it breaks. It's wiser and safer than other methods for various reasons. Not the least of those reasons is the surprising amount of energy built up just before the branch breaks. When you're bending the branch in your hands, applying force just with your arms and wrists, the release of that force can be unpredictable.

Like I said, I understood, intellectually, the wisdom of this advice. At work yesterday, I came to understand it in a more pragmatic way.

Twisting and bending a thumb-thick branch in my hands (for reasons uninteresting for the purposes of this blog), I brought the stick to its breaking point, and simultaneously pictured Les Stroud in my mind, cracking a limb between two trees. The next moment, the stick snapped, releasing its collected force at its outer ends. One of those ends was unwittingly and unerringly aimed with brutal mathematical precision at the head of my innocent, unsuspecting dick.

With an audible thwack, I learned with a deeper, pragmatic and intensely memorable
appreciation the lesson which I had already been aware. The sensation of pain was sharp and immediate, and still, I laughed out loud. God thinks I'm hilarious.

I won't soon forget this learning experience. I share it with you now as Les shared it with me, and I hope you don't have to learn the hard way.

Things I don't understand #3

Why is it that the local grocery mart hasn't carried a single French wine in the entirety of the handful of years we've lived here? Amazing! They carry mostly Californian wines, which is understandable, but also some Australian wines and other importeds.

But not to carry even one French product? That's like carrying fine watches, but nothing from Switzerland. Like stocking Tequila, but nothing from Mexico. Like copping meth, but nothing from the Central Valley.

I finally got off my ass and out of my car, and approached one of the muckety-mucks at the store. I recommended a lower-cost vin francais that I had enjoyed in my most-recent burg. Weeks later, I got the call, and my favorite wine of old was on the shelf. Hurray! They managed to bump up the price a few bucks, but it's still cheaper than shipping from BevMo.