It turns out that to be “hoist with your own petard” is a real thing, not just in Shakespeare’s Hamlet.
Or:
You know the scene in Pixar’s The Incredibles, where Helen, the brilliant costume designer, based on the legendary Edith Head, lists all the superheroes done in by their own outfits—Dynaguy, Metaman, Splashdown, Thunderhead—and insists, “No capes!”; it’s like that.
Or:
We’ve learned that it’s not just gun-owners who are the ones mostly likely to be wounded by their own firearms; experience shows that wielders of more traditional forms of weaponry, to wit, the pirate’s sword, are also those with the highest potential for suffering injury from their own armaments.
In any case, no matter how you spin it, our collective hearts go out heartily to last night’s fallen comrade, Lieutenant Dan, whose very own and very official buccaneer cutlass found its way into his spokes (insert “sword in the spokes” joke here) causing him to go endo and face plant behind Husky Stadium for the second worst Thursday night accident I’ve had the distinct pain of riding up upon, while giving the EMT crew who attended to him (after first aid with feminine hygiene products) almost certainly the best story they’ll be able to tell about bike crashes in a long, long time.
But that’s sort of how the night went pretty much from the start, as all manner of scary things emerged from their autumn slumbers to mess with the collective abandon. Even despite the participation of Ronald McFondle and Winnie the Angry Hippy, there were flat tires to be had and split-ups galore.
A fire was finally effected among the marshes, and television characters, movie villains, and a sexy banana cavorted accordingly. Many peace pipes were loaded and dispatched with Ronald’s homegrown, perhaps another source of the evening’s topsy-turviness.
Frankenstein is the most misunderstood monster because he is our own invention; that which we do to ourselves, the spookiest beasts of all.
Or:
You know the scene in Pixar’s The Incredibles, where Helen, the brilliant costume designer, based on the legendary Edith Head, lists all the superheroes done in by their own outfits—Dynaguy, Metaman, Splashdown, Thunderhead—and insists, “No capes!”; it’s like that.
Or:
We’ve learned that it’s not just gun-owners who are the ones mostly likely to be wounded by their own firearms; experience shows that wielders of more traditional forms of weaponry, to wit, the pirate’s sword, are also those with the highest potential for suffering injury from their own armaments.
In any case, no matter how you spin it, our collective hearts go out heartily to last night’s fallen comrade, Lieutenant Dan, whose very own and very official buccaneer cutlass found its way into his spokes (insert “sword in the spokes” joke here) causing him to go endo and face plant behind Husky Stadium for the second worst Thursday night accident I’ve had the distinct pain of riding up upon, while giving the EMT crew who attended to him (after first aid with feminine hygiene products) almost certainly the best story they’ll be able to tell about bike crashes in a long, long time.
But that’s sort of how the night went pretty much from the start, as all manner of scary things emerged from their autumn slumbers to mess with the collective abandon. Even despite the participation of Ronald McFondle and Winnie the Angry Hippy, there were flat tires to be had and split-ups galore.
A fire was finally effected among the marshes, and television characters, movie villains, and a sexy banana cavorted accordingly. Many peace pipes were loaded and dispatched with Ronald’s homegrown, perhaps another source of the evening’s topsy-turviness.
Frankenstein is the most misunderstood monster because he is our own invention; that which we do to ourselves, the spookiest beasts of all.
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