History is important. Thankfully, key family events have been carefully documented for posterity. If you think you can handle the truth, read on...
DISCLAIMER: The contents of this booklet are provided you in written form as the author best remembers and understands the facts and the circumstances surrounding each incident. The author exercises his rights under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution and is held harmless from any accusations of slander, bald face lying, or character assassination. Upon receipt of this booklet, the reader accepts full responsibility for the attitudes and impressions her or she may develop upon review of each story. The author cannot be held accountable for any negative or adverse emotional and psychological scarring that may result from the intellectual consumption of such ridiculous, absurd and somewhat embellished descriptions of life events of the people named. Reader beware - Culpus Leius Estupidus Basurias (Latin for, "It is your fault if you are stupid enough to read this garbage").
I have had a few inquiries about the "Skidster" accident mentioned in my last Tid Bits. As a way to elicit some attention and sympathy, I thought I would take a moment to provide some detail to the incident.
David was loading his skidster onto his trailer. It did not have the bucket on the front, just some very strong, structural cross members as part of the boom. Consequently, the skidster was back end heavy and needed more weight up front. David asked me to sit on the front part of the skidster to give it more front end weight.
He said, "Don't worry, Dad, we do this all the time. It's not dangerous. You are big enough and fat enough that it would really help." Needless to say, I was offended, but still wanted to help my son. I told him I was a little concerned about my safety. "Dad, just get on. I'll be careful. You do not need to worry."
I climbed up on the horizontal bar of the boom and grabbed hold of what I could as David drove to skidster forward. The skidster jerked and lunged forward. I was losing my balance. Then, the boom was bouncing up and down. I realized the horrifying fact that it was not just the regular loading movement of the machine. David was pushing and pulling the joy stick to make the boom violently jostle me up and down. I felt like a rag doll being tossed and bounced around by some maniacal demon.
When the skidster was squarely upon the trailer, the unexpected happened. I was probably 6 feet in the air when David deliberately lowered the boom as if it were in a free fall. It came crashing down onto the bed of the trailer. I landed hard on the metal cross beam and my back slammed against a metal foot stand. The pain was excruciating. 97.3% of men would have fainted from such pain.
I laid there in a mangled mess when I heard David shout, "Dad, are you okay? Did I get your legs?" I groaned out the words, "My legs are okay, but, my tail bone and back are severely injured."
To my great surprise, the boom started up again, as high as David could raise it. I was draped over the cross bar like a bloodied T-shirt. I managed to scream, "No, David, no!" Suddenly, the boom came crashing down again, this time with more speed and force. Again, I landed on my tail bone. My whole body shuttered in indescribable and unimaginable pain.
I could hear David ask again, "Dad, are your legs okay?" I do not know how I even moaned the words, "Legs, okay. My tail bone is shattered." Instantly, the boom was up in the air again. Again, it came crashing down. "Dad, did I get your legs?"
At the peak of my agony, I finally understood what David was trying to do. "Yes, my legs have been broken under the crushing weight of the boom," I responded. My legs were in fact okay. I just wanted the torture to stop.
The next thing I remember was David lifting the boom and then, somehow, some way, throwing me to the ground next to the trailer. I was hurt, badly injured. However, the pain was made a thousand times worse when I heard David laughing as he jumped into his truck to leave me flailing along side the road.
He cranked up his big diesel, still laughing and gloating over his nefarious behavior. A cloud of thick, black diesel smoke engulfed me. I was choking and with each cough leaving my fragile body, due to the toxic exhaust, horrific pain shot from my tail bone to the top of my head. I was delirious, but, somehow managed to crawl to the door of the house. I scratched at the door and muttered a sickening plea for help.
Mom, opened the door to see me sprawled out on the steps. She looked down at me and I finally felt that badly needed-relief from my exhausting experience with evil torture was now available. Lovingly she said, "Chris, have you taken out the trash yet?"
P.S. I am sure David has his side of the story. Do not believe him.