Tool time

This morning I was futzing around with something in the gay-rodge and had my socket set out on the roof of the car as I did.

This afternoon I got in the car, got on I-25, and took the 6th Avenue exit. La la la la la. I was going about 45 mph around the curve.

Suddenly: screeeeee!, and I looked in the rearview mirror in time to see my socket set hit the road on an edge, bounce and literally explode in the air, pieces flying every which way.

Now, overlooking (for as long as possible) the question of how big a moron you have to be to drive off with a tool set on the roof of your car, check it out:


There were only four or five pieces still in the case, the rest scattered over easily 150 feet of road and shoulder, and I found every piece in just a few minutes and at only moderate risk to life and lambie.

Miraculous toolness #2:

The other day Billy Bob and I were out "running" when I felt something wedge between my big toe and whatever that next toe is called--the "second" toe, one supposes. When we got home I pulled this out of the sole of my tennie with a pair of pliers:


Look at that thing. It's gotta be a thousand years old and hand-forged, like a Clovis nail or something. Think of it: through the centuries it waited--perfectly balanced, brooding--to puncture my big, flat, hairy foot. And when the time came, it missed! Bwahahah--my joints ache.