Bumbling Retard Strikes Again.

September 15th, 2003 by

Have you ever been asleep and had your phone ring and wake you up, so you answer it and then you finally come to your senses and realize that you are talking into your TV remote?

Heh…yeah, me neither. Anybody who’d do that is a moron. So I definitely didn’t do it last night, and I MOST CERTAINLY didn’t cut my finger and glue my penis to a table at the same time the day before.

I build lots of model airplanes, and I put electric motors in them and fly them via radio control. I’m not great at it, but I don’t crash that much anymore. On Saturday, I met up with some fellow residents of greater Geekington and we all poked holes in the sky with our planes. Ohh…good times and lots of talk about lithium polymer batteries, CNC foam cutting, tapered airfoils, and thrust to weight ratios. Here is a photo of the bunch of us with our planes. Don’t worry ladies, we’ll be making a poster of “The sexy E-tards of Atlanta” and we can sign it for you if you’d like, for $20. Nudies coming soon!

The guy who did the bunny ears behind my head thought he was being cute. I shot him in the leg shortly after the picture was taken. Then I ate his lunch and siphoned the gas out of his car and ran away.

On Sunday I was sitting in my underwear working on a plane I am building for a friend, and using something called CA glue to hold it together. It’s pretty much like superglue as far as the properties and dry time, except it is really thin, like water, and it tends to go everywhere if you aren’t careful. I usually have a couple of drops of the stuff on my glass work surface at any given time as a result. One of the properties of this glue is that it takes a while to dry if it isn’t spread very thin, so drops of it tend to stay wet for a while until I glue my hand to the bench. I also use very sharp razors to make cuts in balsa and plastic during the process, so I keep a small stash of band aids on a shelf above my work table. As usual, I managed to slice my finger, and since I didn’t want to get my blood all over this beautiful balsa frame, I stood up and reached for a band aid.

About this time, my penis flopped over the edge of the table into a small drop of glue, which instantly soaked through my knit boxers and glued the end of my weewee to the table. Actually to the ten pound piece of glass that is on top of my table.

For those of you who have your own penis, you know how sensitive it is. For those who don’t, give yourself a paper cut on your nipple, and wear a wool shirt for a day. That’ll give you a rough idea.

Another thing that CA glue does when it sets up is get pretty hot. In my shock, I dropped my last band aid behind my desk, forcing me to deal with both problems at once. I had to hold the cut closed with my good hand to keep from getting blood on anything, and keep from pulling away from where my ding dong was anchored. I couldn’t reach the phone, but it didn’t matter, because I wasn’t going to call anyone.

“Hi, this is Dusty. I seem to have glued my dick to a table. Could you bring me a band aid?”

Right.

I hate having to think during times like this. I could pick up the glass and go find a band aid, but that would mean getting blood on stuff and the risk of falling/dropping the glass and causing infinitely more problems. Then I remembered that I had bought a bottle of special de-bonder that dissolves this kind of glue! Saved!

Now where is tha-…Dammit. I’m not walking out to my car with a 2 foot square piece of glass glued to my dick. Plus, as usual, I had no idea where my keys were and I wasn’t wearing shoes. Or pants.

After looking carefully around to see what I could get to without moving, I found a razor blade and just cut my penis off at the base. The damn thing only causes problems anyway. Then I made a tourniquet out of a rubber band…

Actually, I managed to scrape the involved tissue and cloth away form the glass without hurting myself. Now I could walk around, but my thing was still attached to my undies, and moving actually hurt more than being glued to the table. I found a band aid, and fixed the cut on my finger that was actually worse than I thought it was, and went about deciding how to get out of my predicament, or more to the point, out of my underwear. I even toyed with the thought of just cutting away the bit of cloth that was glued on and wearing the cotton patch until it fell off.

I’ll spare you the details of the fifteen minutes it took me to get it unstuck, but I was more careful than I think I have ever been. I decided against the de-bonder, as it contains six different solvents, and would probably do more harm than good.

You’ll be delighted to know that everything seems to be in working order.

I met two people this weekend that had never heard of me except via this diary. As with everyone else I have met that way, the conversation goes like this:

“Good to meet you, I’m Dusty”

“oh, are you the tornado guy from the website?”

“Yes.”

“Ahhhahahahahaha.”

See the laugh is more like a “shake your head in wonder at the stupidity you behold” laugh than the preferable “Laugh because it’s funny” laugh. Not that I wonder why…

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