Tuesday, September 11, 2012

True Type

I love picking scabs. I love it. I got a big shoulder scab from my fall last week and it's just started flaking off so I've been picking at it all day.

And I realized that picking scabs is like Minesweeper. After a certain point, most of the scabs have new skin under them. You're picking them off and picking them off, you know they haven't all healed yettt...then you get a bleeder. Gotta start the scab all over again.

Scabs are mega-tight. If you had never had a scab before and then you got a cut, you'd think that your body was replacing that soft, baby skin with new battle armor skin. You'd be like "Alright! This is a lot better! This darker, harder lumpier skin will hold up way better than that other stuff." Your dangerous ways have upgraded you to the Don't-Need-To-Take-Crap-From-Nobody skin edition.

If I had scab armor, I would stop letting people get away with being jerks in public. "Hey, did you just cut in front of the line? I don't care if you're in a wheelchair, I'm covered in coagulated blood and I'm basically invincible! Gimme that chair!"

And then you sit down and your hip and butt tear in have because the scab armor is too brittle. You're just bleeding out of your backside!

"AAAHHHH! This is the curse of excellence! I've flown to close to the sun! But at least I used my time...to be a jerk to people I don't know."

So yeah, scab armor. It'll probably get you to mythical warrior status. 

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