1 post tagged “thinking what”
Finish this sentence: "What in the world was I thinking when I...?"
Submitted by jammin15.
... thought the best way to end the slaughter of a snowman was to impale his head on his own flagstaff and subsequently spear that flagstaff into his fallen torso.
All I can say is that odd things bubble forth from my subconscious in the dark of night.
It was around two in the morning in Ashland, WI. I was hanging out with a few friends in my residence hall at the time. I'd gotten up to look at the snow falling steadily in yet another blizzard. And there, across the quad, stood a lone snowman holding a stave flying a red rag as a flag. It had been there for quite a while by then, but for some reason, at that second the decree came to the fore. The snowman had to be slain.
I asked my RA if I could borrow his SCA heavy weapons sword, which quite sanely provoked him to ask why I suddenly desired access to it. I told him of my plans. He approved with the caveat that I must wait until noonish the next day, for he wanted a good seat and to take pictures. I quickly agreed.
At the appointed hour, I charged from my residence hall brandishing rattan sword. I beat the bloody tar out of that frosty bastard. My first swing neatly slotted the joint between his head and shoulders, sending his head tumbling. I took some time savaging the corpse. Still on the adrenaline kick, I attempted to turn his head into a body garnish by means of the flagpole.
Alas, the flag had been afixed to the stave by nails, one of which tore through my glove and into my palm. There's a lovely picture of me looking at my hand while I walked away. It was pretty gruesome. My RA was kind enough to drive me to the ER where I got three stitches put in.
Of course in the interim, some thoughtful students resurrected the fallen snowman.
I had however shed blood (my own damned fault true, but I still bled.) so this could not be visaged.
That night, I and a handful of confederates slipped out with garrotes which we applied liberally to defeat the icy glaze that had formed to armor him through the day. Hitting him with a Jeep doing about twenty miles per hour put paid to any hopes of another re-birth.
