A cold and wet November dawn/And there are no barking sparrows

I found out two things about my marriage this weekend. First, my wife is the only member of her demographic who reads Parade Magazine on Sunday mornings. Any demographic she qualifies for, she is still the only one. Second, she has been tweeting the wolf-face crazy things I say. Especially the ones that make me sound brain-dead.

The tweeting thing is my fault. I am an early adapter of everything I don’t understand. I joined Twitter awhile back and was apparently following people but never actually looked at what anybody wrote because I couldn’t really noodle out what was going on. If I had bothered looking into it, I could have curbed my yammering.

So what is this all about? Me being a moron?

Close.

According to my wife and this week’s Parade Magazine, our Pilgrim fore-invaders didn’t watch the Lions lose on Thanksgiving, they played an equally painful game called Kick the Shins. It’s as it sounds. You put some straw in your pants and then kick the crap out each other’s legs. And it’s still played today! Here’s last year’s championship:



And this is timely because just last week, when I discovered my wife tweets about me, I was talking about the very same thing! And she tweeted about it! On the internet!

But I feel I need to expand on what I said.

Ladies or beta males, if you’re getting messed with and all attempts at a peaceful resolution have been endeavored, may I suggest a kick to the shins as an alternative to the cock punch. Any old asshole is going to expect a furious knee or fist to the groin and will employ a stance to protect the area. But the shin should be considered the groin of the leg. Its vulnerability has been ignored by Hollywood and the MSM for decades. Although, not in the funny pages.

Even better, deliver the assault and wait a week. Close to the bone, the bruise will swell to a degree so painful that even a bed sheet resting on the leg will cause muffled pillow screaming. Track the guy down and when he’s least expecting it, deliver a follow-up blow. The hematoma will rupture and spread instantly to the rest of his leg. He will either throw up on the spot or crumple into a howling mass.

And best of all, he will end up with those weird knobby legs that old men have. You know the kind with all these bumps that look like knee caps but start only six inches north of the foot. And their legs are mostly hairless except for around the ankles for some reason. And they’re at the pool.

Or so has been my experience in the last two weeks. And the bruising is nice down there too. In between yellow and purple somehow.