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April 22, 2010

Origin of a Scar

A British friend, let’s call him Neal, had an accident many years ago in Germany. He’s a big burly guy, from up North. He doesn’t talk or dress like John Steed, but he has a gentle charm and can tell a great story. Here’s what happened.

Neal was getting off a train, walking along the platform, when someone asked him directions in English. Being an extremely obliging chap he turned to help the English couple find the exit. Neal speaks fluent German and can read the long signs. He felt a warm glow in his heart for having helped his countrymen on their way in a strange land. As he proceeded down the platform, Neal, who’s about six feet two, wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings, still glowing with pride for his small Samaritan act, and he bashed his head full on into an overhanging sign.

Why or how the Germans could leave a sign hanging over the railway platform low enough for a tall but not basketball tall fellow to crack his head on is a question with no answer. The fact is that Neal hit his head so hard that he blacked out, fell right there on his back, blood gushing from his forehead.

A thin German woman, not unattractive but clearly quite shaken, was the first to offer assistance by kneeling beside Neal and trying to rouse him. "Geht's dir gut?" Maybe she thought he was dead. However, as she bent over his bleeding face it was too much for her, and she fainted and fell onto Neal with her beautiful bosom right on his face. I cannot say that this felicitous position was what finally aroused Neal’s spirits, but he did come to and awoke under the weight of a strange woman’s boobs.

Naturally, he could not really comprehend the situation, and so he carefully pushed his helper’s limp body off his own, lifting her upwards with his strong arms. His arms may be strong, but Neal was just as sensitive to the sight of blood as his passed-out German friend was. When he raised the woman and saw that her entire chest was covered in blood dripping down onto his face, Neal thought that she was the one bleeding, and the sight made him faint again.

I think I will leave the couple right there on the train platform, wilted but still breathing, sharing their bodies in a ritual of intimacy, the bloody embrace. Not unlike the couples in ancient ballads or Hammer films. Rather touching actually.

Happy trials, Martin

Mutt: Today is Thursday, you know what that means…
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