Well, this thread has a month more to go, after which I'll retire it, since it's pretty much assured the permanent number one spot in "search results" on google, when someone--usually a prospective employer--looks up the brain-damaged primitive on the internet.
This whole kerfluffle could've been avoided if walrus-face had taken my advice from the first page, in which it was promised that if the brain-damaged primitive showed up on Skins's island after his employer and co-workers found out he'd been bad-mouthing them, to explain things and apologize to his fellow primitives for having been such a rectal aperture, that this thread would go nowhere.
But did the brain-damaged primitive pay any attention to franksolich?
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I see someone near the brain-damaged primitive recently won $457,000 in the New Jersey lottery, but it's not him because if it had been, walrus-face would be bragging it up on Skins's island.
You know, there's so many ways one can win in life's lottery, and one wonders why walrus-face has never considered that. He's probably won a "jackpot" here and there, but ignored his good fortune because it didn't meet his narrow interpretation of "winning."
Take franksolich, for example. I come from a family where male baldness seems to occur about the early 30s, all my (now late) hippie older brothers losing their precious strands.
Well, I'm much older than my early 30s now, and that cup appears to have passed from me, still possessing thick luxuriant dark brown hair without an iota of grey. It's very handy for disguising the absence of ears, making me look utterly normal.
I won the lottery in this respect, and I thank God every day of my life for it.
I can't think of any way in which walrus-face won this lottery or that lottery, but surely he must've won
some things over his sixty-two years of life; he just has to think about it.
One can even snatch a "win" from the jaws of utter disaster.
For example, the brain-damaged primitive had to have part of the inside of his skull surgically removed; think of how much worse it would've been, if he'd had to have
all of it removed, as what sometimes happens to other people. He got off easy, but probably doesn't appreciate it.
Or for another example, apparently the brain-damaged primitive had to have one eye surgically removed; think of how much worse it would've been, if he'd had to have
both of them removed, as what sometimes happens to other people. Again, he got off easy, but probably doesn't appreciate it.
I suppose that's the difference between a primitive and a decent and civilized person; the decent and civilized person takes what life gives him, and makes the best of it, while a primitive ignores what he's been given and instead whines about what he didn't get.
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I'm reminded of an incident two summers ago, when I was standing out on the back porch, smoking a cigarette admiring the panorama of the slowly-awakening Sandhills of Nebraska. It was about 5:00 a.m., and nobody comes out here to the middle of nowhere until after 6:00 a.m.
Then suddenly, a guy and a
femme came walking out the back door. (Since I'm deaf, I have no idea if someone's around.) The guy was from the next county over, and had come by to pick up a piece of farm machinery the neighbor was loaning him. Both are in their early 30s. The
femme was (is) strikingly good-looking even at that age, someone any red-blooded male would hop around with in the sack.
I wasn't concerned about the guy; I was concerned about her, being exposed as I was, and they were blocking my way back inside the house, where I could get decent. Reverting to my nerves of steel and audacious confidence, I kept my eye-contact riveted on her, hoping she wouldn't notice, uh, other things.
The guy and I talked for three or four minutes, while he too puffed on a cigarette. She just stood there and stared, I was hoping at my face.
Then they turned around and went to the garage, while I hurriedly donned a pair of gym shorts.
For the longest time, I worried about this, because she's a respectable woman and one wishes respectable people to think well of one. I saw her a few times therafter, but said nothing, hoping she wouldn't remember.
But then this last summer, I learned I'd been a topic of conversation between her and another woman, in which the other woman said it was "too bad" franksolich was born without ears, deaf. "Imagine what he could be, if he could only hear," she commented.
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it," the first woman said; "after all, he won life's lottery in
other ways."
I have no idea what she meant by that, but I assume it's good.