Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Where's the Point?

In junior high school, which was 7th, 8th, and 9th grade back in the day, and I think it was 7th grade or maybe 8th, but not 9th, I somehow, and I don't remember the particulars, stabbed myself in the right thigh with a sharpened #2 pencil -- or, perhaps, someone stabbed me with a sharp #2 pencil in the right thigh, which could have happened because that was during the Cold War and the KGB was doing stuff like that.

Come to think of it, now, I couldn't have stabbed myself in the right thigh with a sharp #2 pencil, even accidentally; but I suppose that if I had the sharp pencil in my front pants pocket and kinda like bent over, I might've stabbed myself and broke the pointy end off in my leg. But that is like next to impossible to do, hard to even imagine. So, see what I mean about the KGB agent from Moscow stabbing me in the leg? Sure, you do.

So, there I was, back in junior high, with the pointy end of a pencil stuck in my leg -- and I couldn't get it out with a paper clip or a needle or scissors and tweezers. That's what happens -- they put it in so it can't come out; that's the thing about the KGB or ... the CIA. Yes, the CIA -- that could have happened. The CIA did experiments on unsuspecting people, particularly, junior high kids, especially, junior high kid nerds. Totally S.O.P. It's true.

There we are, y'know, the #2 pencil point was stuck in my right leg; and at that time in history, junior high kids, particularly, junior high kid nerds, believed that a #2 pencil caused lead poisoning. Well, not the whole pencil, but the lead part, which they say is really graphite, but that's like only in the last two or three years that they have been saying that. Not only was lead poisoning a possibility, a certainty, actually, but that sharp #2 pencil point, the broken off pointy end stuck in my right thigh by a CIA spook, it could migrate anywhere in the body, kinda like that tiny sub in that totally awesome movie, Fantastic Voyage, the one with Raquel Welch getting the antibodies ripped away from every part of her body by the groping, meaty paws of her male compadres. That's how the CIA does things, y'know. The KGB, too. It's true.

So, over the years, I'd check on the #2 pencil point in my right thigh to make sure it was still there. Then, it was like a few years after college -- well, maybe quite a few years after college, after putting on a few pounds -- well, maybe quite a few pounds (since lost, but not without drastic sacrifice to the food god) -- and one day, I checked to see that the #2 pencil point stuck in my right thigh was still there. And it wasn't where it was supposed to be -- somebody had moved it.

Somebody moved it, you ask, looking sidewise, wondering if the world has gone irretrievably mad. It's totally obvious -- you know that a thing like that just doesn't up and move by itself. Somebody had to move the thing -- or cause the thing to move.

Yes, that's it. Nanotechnology -- the CIA's teeny, tiny robots, controlled by a smallish, skinny man, hairless except for on top of his head, which hasn't been washed for several weeks, with black, horn-rimmed glasses, wearing a white lab coat, black pants, fly half unzipped, sitting before a large console, scores of joysticks pointing toward the concrete ceiling, one joystick labeled with my agency number, in a windowless room deep inside a secret government Rocky Mountain facility, the only above ground evidence of which is a small shack heated by a wood-burning Franklin stove, gray-haired, scraggly-bearded recluse, coffee stains on the chest of his dingy, used-to-be-white, long-sleeved henley, eyes closed, stretched out on a rickety, fading-muted-green, canvas cot, waiting for the tea kettle on the black stove to whistle its work-done, remotely moving it.

There is a rational explanation for everything. It just requires setting aside your long-held conceptions of reality.

Posted by Bill at January 27, 2008 03:45 PM