An astounding collection of idiotic thoughts and ideas extracted from the beer encrusted cranium of  S. Lyle OConnor
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My dear readers: Over the past few months I have received 1000’s of calls and letters lamenting that it has been a long while since I published the insanely popular ‘Unsportsmanlike Comment’ or ‘Idiotocity’.  Yes, it has been many months since I put up anything new.  I apologize.  But… 

I am sorry to report I have been gallantly fighting a grave medical condition.  I’ve come down with Endocramatic Digititus.  This rare disease (I wouldn’t have any other kind, thank you!) causes the blood/tissues in fingers (and thumbs) to crystallize.  The end effect is that your fingers become very brittle.  Almost like glass.  Its more common name is: Brittle Finger Syndrome or BF’inS. 

It came on suddenly, back in October.  I was half way through another award winning article for my fledging blog “Idiotocity”.  After finishing a particularly well-written and insightful sentence, I dramatically hit the exclamation mark.  –TINK!!!-   What the hell???  My left fore finger broke off!  Clean off, without any blood.  The insides looked sorta like a broken-off cherry Popsicle!  Weird.  But, hey with no blood flowing, how serious can it be???  So hell, I just kept on typing.  By the time I gotten to the end of the page I’ve broken off both pinkies, my ring finger, and a thumb.  I became concerned, and had it checked out by my in-house Medical staff.  Their diagnosis was as dreadful as it was swift.  I had a full-blown attack of Brittle Finger Syndrome.  BF’inS.  

I am dedicated sort, no doubts there.  But losing half my fingers trying to finish just one page?  I was forced to give up typing.  Sadly, the aforementioned article is still unfinished.  Too bad because I am sure it would have been everyone’s favorite!

Then things got even worse…
Even without pounding the keys, when you suffer from BF’inS, simple every day tasks will take a toll on your digits.  It wasn’t long before I only had one finger left; the middle finger on my right hand.  I’m telling you this; I was very cautious with this last remaining digit.  -Treating it with the greatest of care.  But then one day… You know how dry winter air can make things get…  Ah, dry?  Well, I’m sorry, but I desperately needed to, you know…  make a ‘pick’.  Christ, why not?  I’m in the privacy of my own squalid home.  Who’s going to know?  I guess I went in too deep, I tried to pull out.  …Then,  -TINK!!!-   Oh shit.  Real cool.  Now I was totally digit-less.  With my club like appendages, I couldn’t even extract the embattled digit!  Just then my doorbell rang, without thinking, I called “come on in.”   Big mistake!  In walked the smokin’ hot babe from next door.  She needed to borrow a cup of sugar.  Talk about caught in the act!
There I was with my finger stuck up my nose, and could do nothing about it.  I decided to act like nothing was wrong, perhaps she wouldn’t notice.  Yep, good plan, I thought to myself…  Play it cool.  Yep, that’s me.  That’s my gig .
Not sure it worked so well.  She ran out the door, screaming.

Now for some toe tappin’ magic.
I don’t mind telling you, I was feeling pretty low.  But I wasn’t going to mope around forever.  After a few months of despair and depression, it was enough!!!  Back on my feet, I undertook the arduous task of learning to type with my toes. 

Writing this short update took me 3 long weeks of toe typing.  A tedious process for sure, plus with winter and all, my toes get cold so I have to take a break often to warm ’em up.  So once again, my beloved readers; I apologize that I haven’t been producing up to my usual high standard of a (more-or-less) monthly article.

Evil has a name: It is spelled M-I-C-K.
Of course, we all know that compassion is an unknown commodity at Kat and Mick Enterprises.  So it came as no surprise that the Chief Tyrant and Bottle Washer, “Mick” is prosecuting me for Breach of Contract.  What a neat guy.  I’m telling ya this, next time I see him, I’m gonna poke him right in the eye!  …Sigh.  I guess I’d need fingers for that.  Hell, I’ll use a pointy stick.  Naw, I ‘spose I’d need fingers to pick up the stick.  Double sigh.